Naked to Mine Enemies
by Mundungus42
Summary: The Pirate Code doesn't expressly command its adherents to repay debts that bridge life and death, but the Code is more of a set of guidelines, anyway. Sparrow/Norrington
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings:** Graphic slash and implied het nookie, Elizabeth/Will, Naval jargon, general abuse of geography and history. Spoilers through AWE, movieverse only, ignoring if not refuting all other sources. Written in mostly American English with some plot-insignificant anachronisms because the canon is the same way.

**A/N:** Written for the PotC Big Bang fest on LiveJournal.

**Disclaimer:** © 2011 Mundungus42. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by JKR or any other lawful holder. Permission may be obtained by e-mailing the author at mundungus42 at yahoo dot com

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><p><em>The stars overhead were reflected in the perfectly still water, and not even the prow of the boat cutting noiselessly through the darkness disturbed its surface. Elizabeth moistened her finger in her mouth and held it up but found no wind, only desolate calm. She climbed up the ratlines and saw that what she'd taken for a cluster of stars on the horizon were actually individual lights bobbing in the sea, and the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. She was at world's end once again, facing the specters of the dead. Elizabeth squared her shoulders. She did not fear them. They could no more harm her than return to life, and now that the <em>Flying Dutchman_ had a captain beholden to no man, they would not linger long between worlds._

_The first boats contained anonymous seamen whose faces looked vaguely familiar: some of them her own men from the _Black Pearl, _others in Naval and Marine regalia, and a few others in respectable civilian dress- East India Company men, no doubt. One of the more shabbily-dressed men recognized her._

"_Your majesty," he whispered, his eyes bright._

"_Be at peace," she responded, and meant it._

_His features relaxed into stillness, and his eyes fluttered shut._

_The boats continued to drift past, a single candle lighting the face of each occupant. She saw Sao Fang, who, still believing her to be his goddess, pressed his fingertips together in a gesture of supplication before falling back into torpor. She saw others whose names she had once known, but she couldn't bring herself to call out. There were hundreds, thousands even, all waiting for Will to ferry them onward. She smiled to herself. At least she knew her husband would be kept busy these ten years._

_She was pulled from her reverie by a male voice calling her name._

"_Elizabeth!"_

_She raised her head, looking to see where the voice was coming from. To her surprise, she saw a figure several hundred feet away standing up in his boat. He had fashioned a crude oar by pulling up the bow seat where the candle had sat, but his candle was nowhere to be seen._

"_James?" she called, recognizing his voice._

"_It is you!" he said, splashing noisily toward her. "You're not dead, are you?"_

"_I don't think so," she said."But I'm afraid that, well-"_

"_Yes, yes, I know I'm dead," he said impatiently. "Jones was fairly clear on that. I didn't fear death. I still don't, but that doesn't mean I'm necessarily enjoying myself. The dead aren't exactly the most stimulating company."_

_Elizabeth felt her eyes begin to water, for all that his put-upon tone of voice made her laugh._

"_Here now, what's this?" he asked, now bobbing alongside her vessel. "Tears?"_

"_I owe you a heavy debt, James. It's not every day a woman faces a man who literally and figuratively gave his life for her__,__" she said._

_Norrington looked flustered but pleased. "You'd have done the same," he said. _

_Elizabeth sniffled but still managed a rueful look. "I never was as good as you thought I was, James."_

"_Nonsense," he said, pulling a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and offering it to her. "You're a fine woman, Elizabeth, and, if I may be so bold, the best pirate I ever heard of."_

"_Now I know you're teasing," she said, taking his hanky. Her fingertips brushed his, and she was surprised to find them warm. _

_His gaze was kind as he looked at her. "Perhaps I am. A little. Only a very little."_

"_Will you come aboard, James?" she said, tossing him a mooring line that she swore hadn't been there a moment ago. "I'd be glad of the company."_

_He tied his tiny boat to hers and shinnied up the rope as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Of course, to a man who'd made and lost his fortune at sea, perhaps it was. Elizabeth envied him his grace, but immediately chastised herself for it, since none of his grace or skill had saved him._

_He embraced her awkwardly, as if afraid she would break, and she was struck by how alive he felt. He seemed to sense her discomfiture and released her._

"_Forgive me," he said. "I fear I may be labouring under a false assumption. I don't really have any idea how long I've been here. What has happened in my absence?"_

_Elizabeth blinked in surprise. What sort of dead person sought news of the living? A singular one, to be sure. "A great many things," she began, "Davy Jones is dead and the _Dutchman_ has a new captain."_

"_That is news," said Norrington. "What poor sod has taken his place?"_

"_My husband," said Elizabeth shortly. "William Turner."_

"_Oh," said Norrington. "Oh!" he exclaimed when he grasped the implications of her statement. "Elizabeth, forgive me, I had no idea-"_

_She cut him off with a dismissive gesture. "I know," she said, feeling more than a bit disgruntled. "It's not your fault Jones mortally wounded him. Binding him to the _Dutchman_ was the only way to save him."_

"_It's a heavy price you've paid," he said._

"_I prefer seeing him once a decade to spending a lifetime without him," she said. "And others have paid far more dearly than I," she said, giving him a wry nod._

_His smile was sad. "True. On a happier note, Lord Beckett is no more, I trust?" he spoke the title with heavy irony._

"_It was bad business" Elizabeth demurred. "But suffice it to say that nobody, least of all the Pirate Brethren, will find the sea to be quite as tractable as she once was. Tia Dalma, Jack's Obeah friend turned out to be the goddess Calypso bound in human form. The Caribbean's been an interesting place since we set her free."_

"_Strange times to have lived in," he commented. "When legends roam the seas in physical form and become entangled in human affairs."_

"_Jack says those times are ending," said Elizabeth sadly. "And I have the feeling he's right. I am relieved that I shall have my needle-work to fall back on once the Age of Piracy comes to an end."_

_This made them both laugh, and when they lapsed into silence, Elizabeth cocked her head to the side to hear a soft sound drifting across the water._

"_Do you hear that?"_

"_What?"_

"_That music," she said. _

"_No," he said, tapping his ear in a self-deprecating manner. "A bit too much gunfire over the years, perhaps? Wait-" he paused, listening. "I can hear it."_

_At first Elizabeth thought it was a wind chime when she belatedly realized it was an otherworldly voice singing softly in - what language was that? Elizabeth's language skills were limited to the French she'd promptly forgotten after her tutor resigned, but even she understood that the sweet voice that surrounded them meant no harm._

_She was surprised to see tears running freely down Norrington's face._

"_James," she said, taking his forearm, "what is it?"_

"_A message."_

_Elizabeth hesitated, but couldn't contain her curiosity. "Can you understand the words?"_

"_Approximately," he said, swallowing hard. "'You who languish will see regret ended, your broken heart refilled and mended.'"_

_James took a breath and his voice gained strength. "'You who know your errors past shall be free from them at last.'"_

_He lowered his eyes from the heavens to her face, and Elizabeth's heart ached at the depth of emotion roiling in the green of his eyes. "'Though far from you your love has strayed, your patience soon will be repaid.'" _

_He held out his hands to Elizabeth, and she paused, uncertain what to do. The strange voice enveloped her, and now that James had translated, she could hear the meaning of the strange words. The voice was pure and gentle, and Elizabeth wished with all her heart that they could come true for James, whom she had used so abominably. James who had given everything up for her. Dear James, whom she could admire but lacked the capacity to love. Unconsciously, she pressed her own hands to her bosom and was surprised when a bright light began to glow between them. Startled, she looked up at James, who was gazing at the light with a look of wonder on his face. She held the light out to him, and he took it gently, pressing it to his own chest._

_When it had disappeared, he looked at her with a bright smile, the sort that she saw on Will's face, but never on his habitually stern countenance. She had the unmistakable feeling that she had returned something vital to him and received absolution in return._

"_Thank you, Elizabeth," he said. "I do hope we shall meet again."_

"_Godspeed, James Norrington," she whispered, feeling rather than seeing herself disintegrate._

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><p>Elizabeth opened her eyes and sat up, tears fresh on her cheeks. She rubbed her running nose on the sleeve of her bed gown and lit the candle next to her bed. The clock read three in the morning, a mere eight hours since Will had left her. It would be eighty-seven thousand, six-hundred sixty hours until his return. She went to the window of the rented room and gazed out at the sea, visible between the rickety buildings that stood between her and the harbour. A half moon hung low over the horizon. Was Will really out there now, ferrying the souls of the dead to the next world?<p>

Elizabeth turned her back on the window. Whatever her dream had meant, it was clear that she owed James Norrington. The man deserved better at the hands of fate, and what was a Pirate King who failed to repay debts? She knew she wouldn't sleep more that night, so she dressed, gathered her few belongings, and strapped her sword to her side. She had to get to Norrington before the _Flying Dutchman_.

Sixty miles west northwest in the windward passage, Jack Sparrow had reached the bottom of his first bottle of rum. Frowning, he glanced at the sky and found that it was, indeed, later than he had thought. He secured the helm with a rope to keep the sloop, for only a single bonny mast had the _Dirty Bottom_, on his chosen heading, which would put him within sight of Maisi Point by daybreak. He padded to the back where he'd stowed the cask, stolen from the last tavern to have him thrown out. He put the bottle at the base of the spigot and grinned as the fiery liquid splashed into the bottle. When it was full, he corked it, stuck it in the frayed waistband of his trousers, and hoisted himself aloft. He climbed to the crosstrees and leaned toward the jib.

The light wind that filled the sails whistled through his beard, the air was sweet and clean, and the stars beckoned him forward towards new lands and, if Barbossa's map was to be believed, eternal life. He pulled out the bottle and took a deep pull that burned all the way down, just like it ought. He smacked his lips in approval. This was the way to travel- all on one's ownsie in as pretty a boat as a man could commandeer -no offence to his beloved _Pearl,_ of course. There were no sheep-baiting sea slugs to mutiny, and best of all, no pursuers of the Naval, mercenary, or supernatural variety. Jack Sparrow was no man to scarper when things got a bit rough, but he was also a man who appreciated leisure, and he'd run any man through who dared interfere with it now.

He snapped open the compass that hung around his neck to ensure that the scrap of map he'd stolen from Barbossa was still carefully tucked inside the lid, the fourteenth or fifteenth time he'd done so since setting sail from Tortuga. According to his compass, Barbossa and his _Pearl_ were taking a more direct route past Inagua, far north of his present location. By the time they discovered that a crucial part of their chart was missing, Jack would be well-nigh impossible to find. Besides, no matter where he went, he would always have the advantage of knowing where the _Pearl_ was relative to his person, and she had no way to know where he was. That was the finest thing about having a satisfactory end to his most recent adventures- a return to the _status quo_.

He raised his bottle in salute to the _Pearl_ and freedom from wenches and eunuchs, and drank several painfully large gulps, the last of which went slightly wrong and sent him into a fit of coughing. When his lungs had finally finished telling him off, he was gasping for breath, but he soon realized that something in the wind had changed. He gently blotted his teary eyes so as not to smudge his kohl, and glanced at the sails beneath him. Odd, all of them were as full as they had been a moment ago. So what had changed?

He turned his head sideways, and then he heard it. There was a voice on the wind. A weird-sounding woman's voice. Jack shook his head. Womens' voices at sea were always bad luck. Unless, of course, they were coming from a real, live woman, in which case they were only occasionally bad luck. But there was nothing for it- if someone somewhere needed to tell him something, then he supposed he ought to listen.

At least it was a pretty voice, clear as the Red Sea on a calm day, and it was singing in some weird tongue that he'd heard at some point but couldn't identify- it wasn't anything spoken in tropical climes. The more Jack listened to it, the more it reminded him of ice and frost, things he didn't like to think about. However, voices on the wind were not to be ignored, even if he couldn't understand a word it was singing. And if it was singing to him in a strange tongue, perhaps it meant that the singer didn't know him yet, which meant that she would be far more susceptible to his charms. Well, there was nothing for it. He sighed, and cocked his head into the wind.

Clearly, this is what the voice had been waiting for, because the balmy air was suddenly chilled, and a lonely-sounding bird's call rang through the air. The sails began to luff and flutter, and suddenly, Jack knew what was going to happen. Swearing eloquently, he slid down the mast and was mere steps from the precious barrel when the world turned upside down, and he was plunged into frigid water.

He screamed as what felt like needles of ice pierced his skin. This was why he never willingly left the tropics- water elsewhere was _cold_. He forced his body to go slack, knowing that he would drift up to the surface, provided there were no sudden encounters with anything solid, and sure enough, seconds later, he was sputtering on the glassy surface of the sea, where the horizon was growing rosy.

Where in the name of the Nereids' knickers was his poor _Dirty Bottom_? And where was he? His breath was hanging in the air, and his body had commenced shivering far more than just its timbers, and he estimated he had less than ten minutes before succumbing to the cold. He turned to the west to see if there were anything in sight and nearly pissed himself in relief to see a whole flotilla of small boats, one of which was larger than the others, a swift-looking fore-and-aft rigged boat that was heading toward him.

Jack took a deep breath, wincing as his lungs ached from being forced to expand, and called, "Ahoy the boat!" through chattering teeth.

"Sparrow?"

Jack had never been gladder to hear that voice. "Norrington!"

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Presently? Catching my death, so if it's all the same to you, I'd be grateful for a hand up before we commence reminiscing."

"If you're just now catching it, you're abysmally behind schedule," said Norrington, a humorless smirk grimly bisecting his face. Still, he threw Jack a line and helped pull him aboard, which was manners, at least. He even had some sort of rough blanket on hand, which Jack wrapped around himself gratefully.

Norrington glanced over his shoulder quickly and turned back to Jack. "I never thought I'd say it, Sparrow, but I'm actually sorry you're dead."

"What do you mean, dead?" asked Jack, who had curled into a ball on the deck to conserve heat. "I'm as alive as you- oh, hang on a tick, you are dead," he said. "I heard the stories. The man who ran Davy Jones through on his way out. Fine story, of which you're the hero, make no mistake. Though not so clever, Jones being immortal and all."

"I had noticed." Norrington's voice was as icy as the water Jack had recently occupied.

"So we're between, then," said Jack, comprehension dawning. "What'd you do to merit such a tidy little conveyance instead of one of those coffin boats? And why aren't you comatose and blathering on about how you died like the others? And more importantly, what in the name of buggery did you do to get one of the great ones involved? I didn't quite get her dialect. Northern lady, is she?"

Norrington started, and the surprised expression that flickered across his face was soon replaced with a thunderstruck expression. "Great ones? I-" he paused, his face becoming impassive. "I have nothing to say to you on the subject," he finished.

Jack continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Perhaps I was the only one in the neighborhood. And if I may say, some of the other goddesses are going to have something to say about yours pressing me into service. Typical of a Navy man's goddess, innit?"

"I'm to believe that a man who can't even satisfy the working women of Tortuga has goddesses to speak for him?" sneered Norrington.

"Listen, Norrington," said Jack, his voice going dangerously smooth, "Unless you want to wait here with your thumb up your arse for the _Dutchman_, I'd advise speaking to old Jack here with a bit of respect. You may have a swift little barky, but I've got the way out here," he said tapping his forehead. He pulled his blanket more tightly around himself and padded over to the weather-rail. The congregation of boats now appeared as specks on the horizon. At least Norrington was on an eastward tack, which was exactly the right way to go.

Norrington joined him, leaning unconsciously into the curve of wood. "Sparrow, do you really know a way back?"

"That I do," said Sparrow. "The question is, my dear Commodore-or-Admiral, what will I get out of it if I bring you with me?"

"I won't throw you off my boat into the waters of the dead," said Norrington, his eyes stern.

"Well, when you put it that way," said Jack, acquiescing with a shrug. "What's her name?"

"The _Swan_," said Norrington, allowing himself another one of those grim non-smiles that Jack fancied had struck fear into the hearts of the poor sods unlucky enough to serve under him, and Jack cleared his throat.

"Right. It works like this: we sail away from the boats for the rest of today, preferably exceeding the speed of a _Flying Dutchman_ as sailed by a eunuch who knows bugger all about tactics, until the sun sets. Just before the last bit of sun disappears over the horizon, we flip the boat upside down and pop back into the world of the living. Savvy?"

"You want to capsize the boat?"

"Got it in one," said Jack. "You catch on quick for a Naval officer."

"Have you always been mad, or has the chill finally killed whatever was left of your mind?"

"I didn't make the rules, mate," said Jack. "I just remember 'em. Now, you can either wait around for the whelp to ferry you into oblivion, or you can help me. S'your choice."

Norrington glanced over his shoulder and froze. Jack followed his gaze toward an ominous-looking blotch on the horizon. Jack grinned.

"It seems your hypothetical quandary has taken on a new level of actual importance," he said, trying not to gloat and failing.

"So it has." Norrington's voice was expressionless.

"Don't worry your pretty periwig about it," said Jack. "We've got a full day of sailing ahead of us before you need to decide whether to capsize the boat when I tell you."

"True," said Norrington. "Sparrow, be so good as to man the halyards while I go aloft. We need every square inch of canvas available."

"Aye, Commodore," said Jack, not even minding particularly that Norrington was giving orders. It _was_ his boat after all. At least he wasn't acting as if he were speaking to some lubberly slack-arse.

Jack couldn't help but admire Norrington's agility as he swung himself into the shrouds and climbed

up the ratlines nearly as quickly as he himself might have done. Perhaps the stuffy old Commodore had learned a useful thing or two in the Navy apart from how to wear fancy coats and sneer. As Norrington loosed the canvas, Jack had his nose to the wind, smelling it, trying to anticipate how it would change throughout the day. The _Dutchman_ was barely a dot on the horizon, but she was fast, probably more so since the venerable crust of barnacles dirtying her hull had disappeared with the ascendance of young master Turner. Jack envied the supernatural ship her independence from dry dock.

Jack heard the luff of canvas above and began to heave at the halyards. He glanced up and was surprised to see that Norrington had loosed a square topsail above the top of the jib. As it filled with wind, the boat gave a great lurch forward, and Jack secured the line. She was running at least another two knots faster now, or he was a guppy-pated scrub.

"Not a particularly Naval rig, that," commented Jack, grinning at Norrington as he slid down the mast.

"No, but the purpose of Naval vessels is rarely to capsize. The spars can take it, for some hours, at least."

"Any more surprises up there? Royals, perhaps?"

"Sadly, no. No sweeps below, either."

"Not that we have enough hands to man 'em," observed Jack.

"Presumably the dense concentration of souls to the west will keep the_ Dutchman_ busy until we're over the horizon," said Norrington. "I propose that we wear as soon as we're out of sight in hopes that Turner will pursue us according to our prior heading."

"Wear?" asked Jack, his eyebrows drawing together. "That's not much of a change in heading. Why not tack?"

"They'll expect us to tack and run off close-hauled. It is my hope that they will chase us in the wrong direction. Besides, we have no provisions aboard, so we should avoid pointless thirsty-work like excessive manoeuvres."

Jack didn't particularly like the order. While Turner was green as grass, there were centuries worth of experience aboard the _Dutchman_, so Norrington could very well be right. "I didn't think the dead got thirsty," he commented, more to nettle Norrington than anything.

"We don't," he said superciliously. "But you do, and as you're the only one who knows the way home, I have a vested interest in keeping you alive."

By way of apology, Jack let Norrington take the helm while Jack manned the braces and sheets. He supposed it didn't really matter what direction they were going, as long as it was awayish from the _Dutchman,_ which had, he noted with satisfaction, now sunk below the horizon.

At Norrington's command, Jack hauled the mainsail up as they turned. At least Norrington's goddess had given him a fast little _Swan_ that could be reasonably well-manned by two. Was she of Calypso's sisters, maybe?

As he lowered the sail and returned the lines to their pins, Jack couldn't help wondering if the _Dutchman_ had spotted them, and if so, what was made of them. Will himself had sailed the ocean between worlds when he was alive, so perhaps he would assume they were on their own errand, but he doubted it. Unlike their previous voyage, Jack had aboard a man who was actually and truly deceased, having shuffled off his mortal coil most impressively, so the _Dutchman_ would be drawn to them like bees to honey.

He couldn't help but smile at the spread of fine canvas they were flying. Norrington was a ballsy bastard, make no mistake. The square sail might have carried off the topmast, but even though it was groaning fit to raise the dead, she seemed solid.

"Satisfied, Mr. Sparrow?" asked Norrington, who had left the helm to help secure the lines.

"As much as one can be under the circumstances," said Jack, lashing his last line to the pin. "Now suppose you tell me how you managed to get a proper boat in this place. Unless you expect me to believe the goddess gave it to you."

"I don't particularly care what you believe, Sparrow."

"Fine, fine," said Jack. "Then I don't suppose you'll want to tell me what goddess decided to throw a spanner in my perfectly illegitimate treasure hunt to pluck your stuffed-shirted self from the afterlife?"

"No, I don't."

"Don't want to kiss and tell, eh? Or something-else and tell?"

Norrington's lip curled. "You're disgusting, Sparrow."

"Don't tell me you managed to make nice with an immortal without making the best of the situation!" exclaimed Jack. "Eunuchs! Why am I always surrounded by eunuchs?"

"One wonders at your keen interest in my and Mr. Turner's masculinity," commented Norrington sourly. "Hiding something, are we?"

Jack looked disbelievingly at him for a moment. "If I wasn't perfectly assured that my hearing was adequate, which is to say keener than most, I'd swear the Commodore sassed me. As it is, it's probably a trick of this gods-curst cold wind."

"It's early yet, Sparrow, much as I would will it otherwise. Why don't you warm yourself in the day-cabin?"

"Damned good of you, James. I may call you James?"

"No."

"Good. James is no name for a man of the sea. Jim lad, now that's a proper seaman's name."

Norrington had disappeared behind the boom. "Go away, Sparrow."

"Don't worry about me," said Jack, making a mincing bow. "I'll just be in the cabin, then. Shout if you need us."

There was no reply, to Jack's delight, and the little room with its broad windows was indeed much warmer than the deck. Perhaps it was the sliver of rising sun, or perhaps it was the rum he'd consumed, but Jack soon fell into a deep slumber.

Some hours later, Jack snorted himself awake and cursed when he saw that the sun was low in the sky. He yanked his tricorn firmly over his head and ran up on deck. He found Norrington standing at the taffrail, staring behind them where the _Flying Dutchman_ had made enormous gains on them. They were so close Jack could make out the flash of light as the setting sun reflected off young Turner's spyglass.

"Galatea's tits! They're practically on top of us!"

"I had noticed."

"Why didn't you shout for me?"

"What would have been gained by it, apart from spoiling my final hours with your absurd tomfoolery?"

"I like to think you'd have been comforted by my ready wit," Jack responded, pretending to look hurt, which succeeded in making Norrington snort.

"There's nothing for it," said Norrington at last. "We can't outrun the _Dutchman_."

"We don't have to, Jim lad," said Jack. "The sun's nearly down. We just need to move everything over to one side of the boat post-haste. Give over!" he said at Norrington's skeptical look. "What other ideas you got?"

"None," admitted Norrington, pulling off his heavily braided Admiral's jacket and rolling up his sleeves. "Orders, sir."

Jack allowed himself a moment of slack-jawed gob-smackedness at Norrington's easy relinquishment of command, but quickly recovered.

"Mister Norrington, I notice the cables are all to cock. Was that your doing?"

"I adjusted the rig to allow the ship to be tacked quickly, and then capsized. I hope the change is to your satisfaction."

Jack raised an eyebrow. It wasn't pretty, but Norrington had proved that he knew what he was doing. It just might work. "Have we any guns on this boat?"

"None," came the brisk response. "Though there's a great deal of spare canvas."

"Then move all canvas belowdecks larboard," said Jack.

"Already done. It was that way when I took command of this vessel."

Jack felt his irritation rise. "Didn't you find that the least bit curious? That everything of any substantial weight was stored to one side?"

"Very."

"Then why did you act as if I was out of my bloody skull to suggest tipping her over?"

Odd- Norrington's smirk didn't look nearly as intimidating when he was actually amused. "Force of habit, I suppose."

"Are you sure she hasn't got any guns?"

"Positive."

"Not even a chaser or two?"

"Not even a pistol," said Norrington regretfully.

"If we get out of this alive, remind me to burn something smelly to your patron deity who forgot to give us guns."

"I don't think he'd find that particularly objectionable. He is of the people who invented lutefisk, you know."

"Well," began Jack, who then cut off with a choked sound. "What? HE?"

Norrington was saved having to reply by a loud report from the _Dutchman_. A plume of water shot up about twenty feet off the starboard bow.

"Now, that wasn't friendly," murmured Jack, gazing through his spyglass. Sure enough, the lad was standing on deck next to his progenitor, who brandished a smoldering slow-match near the touch hole of a fine brass bow chaser, which was being sponged out by an excited but inefficient gun crew member. Will held up his hand to stay a shot from a second chaser to see what Jack and Norrington would do.

Jack glanced at the horizon, where the bottom edge of the sun nearly touched the surface of the water.

"We have ten minutes. Fifteen at most. What would you say to a bit of fun, Jim lad?"

"I'd say let Turner shoot," said Norrington. "And prepare to tack."

"Aye, sir," said Jack approvingly. Despite the _Dutchman's _superior speed and firepower, he and Norrington had the weather-gauge, and the _Dutchman _would have to make two manoeuvres to their one in order to get a decent broadside. Clearly, Norrington had been correct in assuming the _Dutchman_ would tack to pursue them. It was only their absurd amount of canvas and probably a few canny sailors aboard that had allowed them to catch up, despite their mistake. Jack had to smile. The lad might have had pirating in his blood, but without his lady-love at hand, Turner hadn't enough cunning to fill the bowl of a pipe.

Jack seized the tackle at the end of the boom while Norrington sprinted up to the helm. "Ready, Sparrow?"

"Aye! Ready, Jim lad?"

"Stop calling me that."

"How about Jamey, then? Jamey's a nice name."

A whistle like an angry tea kettle shot past Jack's head, followed a moment later by a report like a rifle crack. The _Dutchman_ clearly didn't like the look of what they were doing and had fired the second chaser at them. A small hole in the sail showed that the _Dutchman's _crew were aiming too high.

Norrington cranked the wheel hard to starboard and bellowed, "MAINSAIL HAUL!"

There was another crack from the _Dutchman's_ bow chasers that took a chunk out of the starboard weather-rail. One pound shot wouldn't dismast them, but it could throw up some right nasty splinters. Jack ignored it and hauled on the braces, and the boom flew across the deck, cables screeching. The jib and topsail were luffing something fierce, and the topsail's spar was groaning terribly. The boat began to turn, and one of the _Dutchman's_ starboard gun crews let off a premature shot that hit the water a good cable's length ahead of them. Jack didn't envy Turner's gun crews for squandering their shots, since it would be long minutes before the gun could be fired again.

As the ship passed through the eye of the wind, Norrington ran past him to the fore to haul back the jib, which kept the _Swan_ turning. No sooner had he completed this task than he ran back to the helm to put the rudder amidships.

"Let go and haul!" he shouted, and Jack braced the yards to their new tack. The luffing sails filled with wind, and as the boat surged forward on its new heading, Jack couldn't help whooping his approval. A great hulk like the _Dutchman_ could take thirty minutes to tack, but he and Norrington had managed to tack their vessel in less than five.

There was a deafening roar as the _Dutchman _loosed a broadside, but the _Swan _was so low in the water that the upper deck eight-pounders overshot, and only two of the lower deck guns managed to muss some of the standing rigging. Unfortunately, one lucky eight-pound ball completely severed the square topsail's halyards, and the sail collapsed. The timbers groaned as the forward momentum provided by the extra sail evaporated, and the boat eased back two precious knots of speed.

Jack swore. That lucky shot made them vulnerable to a second broadside, but even more importantly, the sail was needful for upending the boat. Norrington was immediately at his side, securing the stays. His face was pink and shining with exertion. "How much time?"

Only the slightest bit of sun was visible on the horizon, and it was falling fast. "Get your Naval breeches aloft!" Jack yelled. "Do what you can to secure the topsail. I'll spin her hard starboard."

Norrington swung over the weather-rail, and tore up the shrouds as if the very devil were at his heels, which in this case, he was.

Once he reached the crosstrees, Norrington leaped to the topsail yard and began to splice the cable so quickly that his fingers were a blur. Before Jack knew it, the sail had been yanked back into place, and the boat groaned forward once more, tipping ominously larboard. It was time.

Jack caught Norrington's eye, but before they could act, there was a deafening report as a hellishly ambitious gun crew on the _Dutchman _succeeded in firing on their boat. Fortunately, the shot had blasted through the forecastle, and though the jib quivered and collapsed, the canvas protected Jack from the flying splinters. The smell of gunpowder was heavy in the air, and Jack could hardly see the edge of the sun through all the smoke.

"All right, Sparrow?" came the call from above.

"Aye, prepare to flip her on my count," shouted Jack. "One!"

Two more of the _Dutchman's_ guns fired in rapid succession. One ball smashed completely through the weather rail but left the deck untouched, and the other eight-pound iron ball smashed into the mast. Fortunately, there it lodged and there it stayed.

"Two-three!" yelled Jack, taking advantage of the silence.

Jack yanked on the cable, and the block groaned as the heavy rope ground through its wheels. The boom whipped to larboard, and though Jack couldn't see it, Norrington must have thrown all his weight hard to the side, because the _Swan_ began to tip almost immediately.

More guns fired, and the air was filled with smoke and flying bits of wood. Jack began to laugh as he skipped along the deck of the foundering boat. Amidst the roar of cannon fire there was a loud crack, and Jack leapt nimbly to the side just in time to avoid being crushed by the top of the mast and sail crashing to the deck. Jack's initial fear was that the loss of mast was sufficient to keep them from capsizing, but the sound of ocean rushing over the side of the boat calmed his fears.

Belatedly, he realized that Norrington had been standing in the crosstrees when the ball had hit. "Norrington?" he shouted, but his voice was lost in the gunfire. The deck had pitched nearly forty-five degrees, and Jack seized a clew that was hanging slack from the mainmast and wrapped his arm around it. He had been through this already more than any man ought. He relaxed into the rush of water, and as the surface closed over his head, there was a flash of green light. Jack smiled and closed his eyes.

Unfortunately, Jack's peace was short-lived. There was a mighty crack, and something enormous and heavy crashed into his skull. His eyes flew open only to be nearly blinded by morning sun. He clutched his skull and swore loudly and creatively. As the shaking in his vision receded, he realized that he was lying on the deck surrounded by piles of fallen rigging.

At that moment, Jack resolved never to get so arse-faced on rum that he could sleep through a storm when a sharp shove to his shoulder jarred him into consciousness.

"Sparrow, get up. We're not out of this yet."

Norrington. Jack swore again. "Thought you were a dream," he managed to grind out.

"Touching as it is to know that you dream of me, it's likely that the _Dutchman_ will be with us presently. While they won't have much in the way of dry powder, they are more than equipped to board us, so unless you brought me to this world only to be unceremoniously yanked back out of it, you'll get into the dinghy now."

Jack wasn't surprised that the hands belatedly protecting his head came away bloody. "Dunno how much good I'll be to you, mate," said Jack, lurching with less than usual grace to the weather-rail and vomiting over the side.

Norrington seized his shoulder and looked into his eyes. Huh. Norrington's eyes were green. And getting fuzzy. Whatever he saw clearly displeased him.

"Get in the dinghy," he said, practically throwing him over the edge. "Can you handle this line?"

"I'd rather pull the other one," replied Jack, grinning at his own wit. Was it his imagination, or did that come out right? Norrington gave him another penetrating glance, which prompted Jack to wink. Though it was damned hard to do when the light was so bright it made him squint.

The sky was so bright. And loud. Sounded like an enormous wave crashing. And yelling. But his hands moved of their own accord, the rope moved with them. He managed to make the bunny go out of the hole, around the tree, and back down the hole before his legs collapsed, dumping him into the bottom of the row boat. And then the sun was gone, hidden by a spread of white canvas overhead. The ropes were supposed to be singing, not ringing in such a godawful way. He yelled back at them but had to stop because it made his head throb. Hardly manners to make his head hurt so when he and the ropes were such old friends. Jack was determined to give the rigging a piece of his mind when the world went unexpectedly black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **© 2011 Mundungus42. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by Disney or any other lawful holder. Permission may be obtained by e-mailing the author at mundungus42 at yahoo dot com

* * *

><p>When Jack came to, he was being jarred horribly, both his head and stomach, the latter of which was compressed against something hard and bouncing.<p>

"Mf gffna pmfk."

"What are you on about, Sparrow?" came the querulous reply. Gods rot it, it was him again. May the benevolent goddesses save him from officious Commodores!

"I. Am. Going. To. Puke," said Jack, enunciating clearly.

Norrington swore and hove Jack off his shoulder, checking his fall at the last moment by seizing his arm. Jack hit the sand and began to retch, his head pounding with every heave. When he had emptied what little was left in his stomach, he attempted to stand. However, the ground pitched and rolled like a dinghy in a typhoon, and he was grateful for Norrington's shoulder under his arm. Not that he'd say so, of course.

Once they had reached the tree line, Norrington laid him against a boulder. "You should rest, Sparrow. Stay here and I'll find you some water."

"What about the _Dutchman_?"

"Gone. I was able to row us to the shallows before they surfaced, and once they saw we'd taken refuge ashore, they left. They left my boat untouched, presumably because they can only catch us at sea."

"Speaking of the little boat, how did it come through the voyage?" said Jack, attempting to rise.

Norrington held him back. "The topsail will never fly again- her spar is broken clean through, but the rest of the spars and rigging are middling fair. Nothing a few days' work can't fix. But Sparrow, you must rest. I've seen blows to the head addle a man's brains for weeks."

"Don't fuss," said Jack, slapping his hand away. "I'm fine." As if to prove his point, he lurched to his feet and wobbled unsteadily for a moment before bracing himself against a palm tree with his elbow. He rested his head against his hand, attempting to look nonchalant. "See? Fit as a filly's fart."

Norrington shrugged. "Have it your way. There appears to be a small boat wrecked up the beach," he said gesturing. "I'm going to see if there's anything-" he broke off as Sparrow sprinted off toward the wreck.

"-salvageable," he finished, sighing.

To his credit, Jack only fell three times before he reached the boat, and one wasn't a fall so much as kneeling in front of a battered-looking cask.

"Fresh water?" asked Norrington hopefully.

"It's the rum!" exclaimed Jack happily. "Bless the _Dirty Bottom_; the rum's not gone after all!"

Norrington glanced at the boat and noted that despite being broken nearly in half- she must have been dashed against a reef - her spars were in fine shape. With a bit of work, the main yard could be cut down to the right size for his topsail. It was unbelievable good luck. It was then that the enormity of what had been done for him hit Norrington. He sank to his knees in the shade of the upended keel and leaned his head against the bleached wood.

"Great blessings, indeed," he muttered, grimacing at the gravelly quality of his own voice and sending up a silent prayer of thanks. He glanced at Sparrow, who had propped the cask up on a rock and opened the bung directly into his mouth. He wouldn't have been Norrington's first choice as a saviour, but the proof of the saviour was in the saving, and he had proven himself.

Norrington sighed as Sparrow fell back on to the sand, fairly gurgling with pleasure. There was work to do. If he was going to have another chance at life, he wasn't going to spend it dead drunk. He climbed into the hull to see if Sparrow had managed to steal any decent tools along with his boat.

By dusk, Norrington had not just determined their position- a dozen or so miles from the city of Antilla - he had also managed to salvage a large quantity of cable, worn but solidly constructed tools, and other useful items from Jack's wrecked boat and assembled them near the dinghy in an approximately Naval sort of way. Jack, whose first bout of glorious drunkenness had evaporated into peevishness, had commenced complaining about everything to the extent that Norrington excused himself brusquely to find fresh water, despite the fact that he'd salvaged a full cask of it from Jack's boat.

Norrington had spotted a stream not far from the wreck, and followed it into the forest until he found an appropriate place to wash himself and his clothes. He regretted the loss of his coat for its protection from the elements, for all that it would have made him instantly recognizable. Fortunately, it was a clear, balmy night, and the moon was rising.

After scrubbing his clothes in the sandy riverbed and laying them on a nearby rock, Norrington lay back in the water, grateful for the way its steady rush blocked out all other sounds and the gentle way it cradled his body. A single stroke sent him gliding to the far bank, where there was a circular curve containing a gentle eddy. He leaned his head back into the water, and when he re-emerged, the stray tendrils that had escaped his queue streamed back from his forehead. He tied back his hair and was about to get out of the creek when he caught a motion out of the corner of his eye. His body tensed for action, but to his simultaneous relief and annoyance, it was only Sparrow silhouetted in the rising moon.

Norrington had been in the Navy too long not to know when he was being given the once-over, but he felt oddly vulnerable to Jack's intense stare. He crossed his arms across his chest. "Are you finally convinced I'm not a eunuch?"

"You found fresh water, I see," said Jack, his eyes barely visible in the shadows. "How is it?"

"Fine."

"It's safe to drink then?"

Norrington paused. He somehow hadn't thought to taste it. The realization bothered him more than he cared to admit. "Try it if you like," he snapped.

"When was the last time you ate, Norrington?" asked Jack.

"I've been rather busy."

"And now?"

Norrington wasn't sure what he disliked more, Sparrow's solicitude or what his questions seemed to be implying. "I'm not hungry."

"Jim lad, do old Jacky a favour and step into the moonlight."

Norrington summoned his most forbidding stare. "I don't know what sort of disgusting game you're playing, Sparrow, but if you think that simply because I have a patron god that I'm-"

Jack waved a dismissive hand. "Didn't mean to offend your Commodorely shyness. Just your hand, then. Go on."

"Sparrow-"

"I can wait 'til the moon rises further, mate," said Jack, sitting on the bank and crossing his leg, as if to pull off his boot. He paused. "However, I could be convinced to leave your naked self be if you'd just acquiesce to my tiny little request."

Norrington felt a strange fear close over his heart, but he raised his hand from the water and held it out in front of him to where the shadow of the trees ended.

Where he expected to see his calloused fingers he saw only empty bone. He felt a thrill of panic, and he sharply withdrew his hand, but fascination got the better of him, and he extended his arm once more. The bones were clean, if yellowed, and they flexed as he moved his fingers. It was a curious sensation, to be in control of a dead hand.

He looked up into Sparrow's shadowed face. "What does this mean, Sparrow?"

"It means, my dear Commodore, that you are neither living nor dead, not unlike my heretofore cursed shipmates. You can neither die, nor can you live. You cannot sleep, nor eat, nor drink, and you can take no pleasurable company, sorry as I'm sure your god will be to hear it."

Norrington quickly withdrew his hand from the light and pressed it to his chest. It felt like his hand. In the darkness it still looked like his hand. But what was it? He cupped his hand and brought a small amount of water to his lips. Surprisingly it held, but when the water entered his mouth it no longer felt like water but sand, and it trickled _through_ him rather than settling in his belly as it would have in life. He coughed from the tickling sensation and pounded his chest.

"Could be worse," said Jack, shrugging. "At least it means you can work all night fixing the boat. Me? I've got to rest and get me brains un-addled."

"Sparrow," asked Norrington quietly. "What can be done?"

"Get some sleep. Or let me get some sleep," said Jack, stretching. "And then we shall parley and negotiate new terms, savvy?"

Norrington did not like being toyed with. He stepped fully into the moonlight, grateful that the motion disturbed the water so that he wouldn't accidentally see his own reflection. "You will answer me, Sparrow. How is it cured?"

"It's really quite simple," said Jack. "You're still dead, mate. You're no longer bobbing around waiting for the Dutchman, but it's no simple thing to bring the dead back to life. So your option is to either find someone who has the power to bring back the dead or find a way around it."

"Around it? How?"

"Well, making a deal with the devil is traditional," said Jack, his gold teeth flashing in the moonlight.

Norrington met his eye. "Are you offering?"

Sparrow tutted impatiently. "I was buying meself a bit of time, seeing as I haven't exactly got a plan yet, but apparently literary references are lost on the Royal Navy. Now stow your gob and let me be. We'll talk on the morrow."

He staggered off toward the beach, leaving Norrington gazing at his grotesque reflection in the water.

* * *

><p>The sun was not far from its zenith when Jack pulled himself reluctantly out from the shelter Norrington had cunningly improvised from the dinghy and oars. The sand was cool in the shade, and it was hot as a Brazilian wench out where Norrington was noisily hewing down the spar to the correct size. To Jack's surprise, Norrington hadn't bothered to put on his shirt, and his back was glistening from the exertion. It wasn't a very pretty back- it hadn't seen the sun in quite some time and was pale as a squid's underside, and there were all sorts of old flogging scars, which Jack thought was something of a shame. For all intents and purposes, all of Norrington's outside was an artificial construct of the curse. The least the cursing entity could have done was to improve its aspect somewhat.<p>

"Oi there!" called Jack gruffly, staggering toward Norrington, dismayed that he felt only the least bit improved from the day before. His balance was still off. "How's a man supposed to have a deep, healing rest with all this caterwauling and carpentry?"

Norrington looked up from his labour with the long-suffering expression that Jack was beginning to enjoy. Strange, though, his chin was still as clean-shaven as it had been in the moment of his running-through. Perhaps that was one advantage of being an illusion.

"One could start by sleeping elsewhere, preferably on the far side of the island," Norrington replied, sweeping his forearm against his sweaty brow.

Jack ignored him to take a closer look. He was surprised to note that Norrington's work had produced tidy results. One side of the spar had been precisely cut down to the proper size and sanded until it shone.

"I didn't know Naval officers did this sort of thing," he commented.

"I was carpenter's mate before I rated midshipman."

"Pull the other one," said Jack.

"Very well," said Norrington with an impatient sigh. "I'm actually the fourth son of a duke who had to take to sea to earn my fortune. My first years 'at sea' were spent in expensive schools, I never bothered learning to reef, hand, or steer, and my advancement was due entirely to the excellence of my connections and cuckolding only the officers without sufficient consequence to impede me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Sparrow cocked his head, giving him the aspect of a curious mutt. "You really started out belowdecks?"

Norrington shrugged. "It's not as if a cooper's son could afford a commission."

"My, my. Someone has depths and secrets," said Sparrow waggling an eyebrow at him.

"I haven't any idea why this surprises you," said Norrington, laying his adze aside and sitting on the sand.

"Oh, _haven't_ you?" returned Jack, mimicking his plummy accent. "But it's true, mate, pirates get blinded by the epaulettes and shiny swords on occasion, the same way you Navy lads sometimes can't see past the Jolly Roger to get the measure of the men behind it."

"How penetrating," said Norrington dryly. "Now if you don't mind, Sparrow, if we want to sail with the evening tide, I've got quite a bit of work to do."

"What's your hurry?" asked Jack, deliberately sitting on the end of the spar Norrington was working.

"The _Dutchman_ will soon have worked through all the souls that Jones left behind. It behooves us to find a solution, fast."

Jack raised an admonishing finger. "Ah ah ah. We haven't yet laid all our cards on the table and come to an accord."

"Can you talk while I work?" asked Norrington.

Jack scowled at him. "Here now, I take exception to your disrespect for parley."

Norrington's eye twinkled as he raised the adze over his shoulder. "I don't negotiate with pirates," he said loftily.

"Funny!" exclaimed Jack. "You're funny. Now, here's things as I see it. That knock on the head, much as I hate to admit it, has left me feeling a touch unsteady, as it were. You, in your infinite wisdom, suggested I rest until me brains were settled once again, am I right?"

"Thus far."

"You, it turns out, are cursed. Shame, that. Inconvenient at balls and dinner parties. But the upside of that is that you have all the time in the world. You don't need to eat or drink, so you can be anywhere indefinitely. Have I got the measure of it?"

"Perhaps."

"Right. So by my thinking, there is nothing to be gained by setting to sea immediately. In fact, it could very well be that my poor battered skull would be permanently damaged by it. As for whether we'd be safer from the _Dutchman_ sooner rather than later, I would like to point out that we're surrounded by islands, Jamey, and all of them are surrounded by shallows, and where there are shallows in sight of land, we're safe from the _Dutchman._ Savvy?

"_Oui_."

"Funny _and_ French. God help us. So you concede that, since it takes both of us to sail the boat, it would be better to stay put."

"Not at all," said Norrington. "There is the matter of your treasure hunt to be discussed."

Jack's hand involuntarily flew to his chest where the compass was reassuringly solid. "Don't know what you mean, mate," he said lamely.

"Of course not," said Norrington with withering scorn. "Just as I'm sure you have no idea how you came to be in possession of the map fragment you carry."

Jack took a deep breath, prepared to lie outrageously, but Norrington held up a hand to forestall him.

"Sparrow, the only thing you will accomplish by attempting to foist motivations on me that I do not actually possess is irritating me and quite possibly earning yourself another knock on the head. And if you seem constitutionally incapable of speaking plainly, allow me to do so. The salient facts as I see them are as follows: firstly, my boat requires two to sail her. That is the only reason I am taking you into account at all. Secondly, I am dead, which makes me vulnerable to the _Dutchman_. My highest priority is becoming un-dead, and since you are stuck with me on my boat, my highest priority is also yours, treasure map or no. _Ca va, _Sparrow?"

"You went through me personal effects!" said Jack.

Norrington shook his head, apparently taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. "What?"

"You searched through my personal affects when I was incapacitated." Jack crossed his arms across his chest. "Ungentlemanlike at best."

"I'm not a gentleman, and you are most certainly not a lady. The leather thong was wrong-ways around your neck and could have choked off your air," he explained. "I took it off you for safe-keeping until we got to shore."

"And it just happened to pop open, I suppose?"

"I wanted to see the object that was of such interest to the late and unlamented Lord Beckett," said Norrington. "It's still broken. The needle spins and spins."

"It seems, Jim lad, that you love the whole wide world. But the compass isn't the important thing, especially where your Naval self is concerned." He rubbed his thumb and fingers together meaningfully.

Norrington smirked. "You think I'm interested in gold?"

"You're not?" asked Jack sceptically. "'Course you are. Everyone is, especially tradesmen's sons who try to marry governors' daughters."

"I'm not primarily motivated by gold," said Norrington stiffly.

"What if I could tell you that what's centre of this map might solve both our problems."

"I'd tell you that I have a largish Gothic church on an island in the Seine for sale."

Jack ignored this. "You wanted to know a way around the curse. Don't you think a restorative sip or two from the fountain of youth could be just the thing?"

"There is no fountain of youth," said Norrington. "If there were, King Philip of Spain would still be over two hundred years old and insufferable as ever."

"But what if de Leon never found it?" asked Jack, weaving like a cobra. "What if someone English did?"

"It would explain many members of Parliament," said Norrington.

"Look," said Jack, pulling out the compass and flipping open the case. "Barbossa and his mutinous swabs are already on their way to America. They think that with their map they'll have an easier time of things than the conquistadors did. As you can see, the most important bit of the aforementioned map has been liberated by yours truly, so they'll be stuck wandering the bogs of _la Florida_ being nibbled on by enormous mosquitoes and crocodiles."

Norrington opened the battered chart case that he'd salvaged from Jack's boat and was pleased to see that Sparrow was, thankfully, in possession of a map of the American coast. "I don't suppose you happen to remember where exactly this map fits?"

"O' course I do," said Jack brusquely, tapping his finger on the southernmost tip of the enormous peninsula. "Here. Ish. Barbossa's map was a ruddy great peninsula shaped like this and labelled 'King Philip's America.' What else could it be?"

Norrington gestured at the compass case. "May I?"

"Be my guest," said Jack, handing Norrington the map fragment.

He peered at it for a long minute. "These hills are rather odd landmarks for Florida, don't you think?"

"Couldn't say," said Jack. "Mostly I sailed 'round it to get to New Orleans, if you take my meaning."

"Florida is like a sponge saturated with water, yet this map shows only a few rivers and no lakes. And what about these settlements?" asked Norrington, pointing to what was clearly an unnamed town, marked some distance up the coast from the fountain on Jack's map. "Where is it on the Florida map?"

"P'raps the Florida map's out of date," said Jack. "Or else the treasure map is."

"And what about this abbreviation? W-A-M-P?"

"Where Are My Pants?" suggested Jack.

Norrington's eyes were thoughtful. "I trust that you remember the most important details of the rest of the map, but I wonder if it means what you believe it means."

"Oh? And what do you think it means?"

"I don't think this is Florida at all," said Norrington. "I think what we seek is significantly further north in New England."

"Calypso's cunny!" exclaimed Jack. "You think I can't tell a bloody map of Florida from a bloody map of New England?"

"I think you saw what the map makers intended you to see. I believe the map was intended to deceive."

Jack crossed his arms. "You can tell all that from an unnamed settlement and Where Are My Pants?"

"Does the name Metacomet mean anything to you, Sparrow?"

"Is it a comet within a comet that has implications for all comet-kind?"

Norrington glared at him. "Metacomet was a Wampanoag Indian chief who warred with the British in Massachusetts."

"So you think WAMP is short for the Wampy-thing tribe? Dead clever, mate, and culturally sensitive beyond your ken, but it doesn't really explain why an ex-Spanish king's name is on the bloody map, now does it?"

"It does if you consider the fact that Metacomet's nickname was King Phillip."

Jack opened his mouth to argue but shut it again when he could think of nothing to say in response.

Norrington nodded, satisfied. "Now, assuming Barbossa isn't a New England native, your supposition that they're on their way to Florida is likely correct. Which is why it is to our great advantage to sail north to the Massachusetts Bay Colony with all due haste."

"Since when are you a bloody expert on these Where Are My Pants people?"

"Since I was arrested by the Puritans for spying for the crown and had to escape through Indian territory."

Jack stared at him in unflattering disbelief. "You're having me on."

Norrington favoured him with an imperious scowl. "Sparrow, have you any idea what it takes for a man of no consequence to be made a post-captain in His Majesty's Navy?"

Ha! There was the stroppy Commodore whose nose Jack enjoyed tweaking so much. He gave Norrington an innocent shrug. "Unusual skill at fellatio?"

Norrington stiffened for a moment but quickly sussed out that he was being baited. "Your supposition says a great deal more about discipline on a pirate ship than in the Navy," he said loftily. "Now kindly remove yourself from my spar."

"That's what he said," grumbled Sparrow, feeling unaccountably disappointed to be dismissed. "What about the whelp in the _Dutchman_?" asked Jack, attempting to extend the conversation.

"We stick close to shore as much as possible and hope that there are more important souls to harvest than mine," said Norrington lightly. "Now, Sparrow, do we have an accord?"

Jack looked askance at him, lips pursed. "The terms are, we immediately make sail for the land of no pants, find the fountain in the wilds of Massachusetts before the _Dutchman _finds us, drink deep, then go on our merry ways, yeah?"

"Essentially."

"Then we have an accord," said Jack, extending his hand to Norrington.

When they had shaken, Jack slid bonelessly off the spar. "Excellent. Now get back to work, Jim lad. Not much time left if we're to make sail with the evening tide. I'm off to go enjoy that spring you found yesterday and make sure me head doesn't get more addled."

Norrington raised his adze and lowered it again. "Sparrow?" he called.

Jack turned to face him, his index finger twining in his beard. "Yes, my pet?"

"Do me the favour of not drowning. It would be inconvenient to have to swim to Massachusetts."

"I could always bathe just there in the ocean so you can keep an eye on me," said Jack, winking saucily before he minced off toward the spring.

Norrington's only response was to commence hacking away at the spar with his adze, which was a vaguely threatening action on his part, if one chose to think about it. Naturally, Jack chose not to.

* * *

><p>Sailing on the evening tide was significantly easier said than done, especially when one had an argumentative pirate aboard who was used to having his own way, from cross catharpings to the correct direction to coil cable. As it was, they missed their tide, thanks to Jack's insistence on examining the rudder chain himself and his refusal to weigh anchor until Norrington agreed to rake the mast, which would allow them to fly the square topsail at all times. Even on a small boat like theirs with an ex-carpenter's mate in charge of the proceedings, raking and securing the mast was a big job - so big that they nearly missed the next morning's tide.<p>

Fortunately, Jack was tired enough from being in high dudgeon all night that he quickly retired to the day cabin while Norrington sailed them north-northwest toward the Bahamas, only a hundred and fifty miles away, where they would sail from island to island so as to provide the least amount of opportunity to be taken by the _Dutchman. _Their path to America was not particularly direct, but it was safest.

James had a few hours' peace simply enjoying the way the boat cut swiftly through the calm waters. At one point he heard a strange whistling sound and looked over the rail to see a pod of dolphins riding the prow. James relaxed as he watched their silver bodies glide alongside and occasionally leap out of the water.

When Jack finally reappeared on desk, James was in such peaceful spirits that not even his former nemesis could bother him, and not for lack of trying. After ten minutes of inane comments about the rigging failed to rouse James to sharp words, Jack climbed sulkily into the crosstrees where he silently scanned the ocean for strange sails.

That evening they anchored, by tacit agreement, along an uninhabited stretch of land in the lee of large sandstone bluffs. Jack had made himself a hammock from a small sail and announced that he was more comfortable sleeping at sea than on land, but James was taking no chances and rowed himself ashore. The narrow strip of beach below the bluffs was composed of largish pebbles. It was a perfectly clear night, and it was bright enough by starlight for him to locate a serviceable crag to shield himself from the moon, which would rise soon. From his hiding place, he could see Sparrow's lantern and the dim glow of the luminous waves where they broke on the shore. Sparrow was singing some sort of demented sea chantey and taking deep pulls of rum between verses. Before long, he added a stumbling sort of dance. The bloody fool was going to fall over and crack his head again.

James sighed. With effort, he lifted his eyes to the sky. The moon was rising, an emaciated, waning moon that would be gone within a week. James had never been so anxious for a new moon in his life, if this could be said to be his life. He sincerely hoped that the new moon would coincide with their time ashore in Massachusetts. Or, if not the new moon, then cloudy weather. On the bright side, at least being burned or hung for a witch wouldn't be fatal for him.

There was a loud splash, and he sprang to his feet. Sparrow must have fallen off the deck. Huffing in annoyance, James began to shove the dinghy into the water to fish him out when he realized that Sparrow was swimming toward shore with lazy strokes. As he got closer, James caught a flash of skin in the moonlight. Sparrow was as naked as the day he was born.

Or not completely naked, James amended mentally, since Sparrow had the compass around his neck and, bizarrely enough, was still wearing his boots. He stepped out of the water, boots squelching absurdly, and walked unsteadily over to James's crag.

"You know, Sparrow, I'd have believed you if you simply told me you weren't a eunuch."

"You've never believed a word I've said," said Jack cheerfully.

"I'd have been willing to suspend disbelief."

Jack lowered himself onto a nearby rock while James assiduously looked away.

"To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

"Got lonely on the boat," said Jack. "It's not much fun singing harmonizing by meself. Do admirals or commodores sing?"

"Hymns mostly. 'Old Hundredth,' 'Heart of Oak,' that sort of thing."

"We've got to work on your repertoire, mate. Unless carpenters' mates are more learned in things melodical?"

"They might be, if they were inclined to sing."

Jack lay back on the rock and kicked one foot in the air. _"_So incline, Jim lad. '_Sir Walter enjoying his damsel one night,_'"he sang. "'_He tickled and pleased her to so great a height, that she could not contain t'wards the end of the matter, but in rapture cried out-_'"Jack paused and looked meaningfully at James.

"No."

"Ah, you do know it," said Jack, smiling slyly. "Go on, then. A man can't sing a catch by himself. You start at the top, I'll keep going."

James cleared his throat. "'_Sir Walter enjoying his damsel one night-_'"

Jack kicked his foot in time to the music, water sloshing inside his boot. "'_Oh sweet Sir Walter! Oh sweet Sir Walter! Oh sweet Sir Walter!_'" he sang. "'_Swisswer-swatter swisster swatter!_'"

It had been decades since James had sung the song, but he still remembered the tune, which was far prettier than the bawdy lyrics deserved . To his credit, Jack didn't stop singing when James reached the "Oh sweet Sir Walter" bit as James had expected him to do, but started singing from the beginning again.

Not that James would ever admit it, but singing with Sparrow was not an entirely unpleasant experience. The melodic lines twined around one another cleverly, and Sparrow's voice, when he wasn't trying to sound like a masculine bullfrog, wasn't terrible. When James reached the end of the song, he gave up all pretense of aloofness and allowed the absurdity of two old enemies singing the words of a lusty damsel to wash over him as he joined Jack on a final round of "Oh sweet Sir Walter". To his surprise, Jack harmonized capably with him on the "swisser-swatters", and their last note rang out clearly over the water.

Jack's booted foot flopped back down on the rock with a wet splut. "Very nice, Jamey. You've a pretty little voice. It's lower than I expected - perhaps you're only half eunuch."

"Whatever I am, at least I'm not obsessed with other mens' bollocks," said James, withdrawing further into the crag so as to avoid the rising moonlight.

"Just gods, eh?"

"I really don't need to hear this," said James.

"Well, you might think about it if he might be able to do something about your whole dead problem."

James managed to keep from hitting Sparrow on the head. "He's not that sort of god," he said tightly. "And I'll thank you to speak no more on the subject."

"Well, pardon me for being concerned," said Sparrow, glaring, "But I'm not going to let your prudery get me sent to Davy Jones's locker. And believe you me, it's a much less hospitable place when Davy Jones himself is in residence."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Did you see the green flash at sunset?"

"I was doing a bit of tricky navigating," said James.

"Well, right after the flash, I saw a sail."

"Why on earth didn't you call 'Sail ho' when you saw it?"

Jack sighed impatiently. "You were doing a tricky bit of navigating, And what good would it have done you to know that a ship that might have been the _Dutchman_ was too far away to trouble us before nightfall? None. Besides, I'm telling you now."

"We already knew they were pursuing me," said James. "Our course is set and minimizes the time spent in open sea. There's not much more we can do. And it's possible that it wasn't even the _Dutchman_ you saw. We shall simply have to be more vigilant."

The corner of Jack's mouth lifted. "By which I assume you mean me to call 'sail ho' next time."

Norrington's voice was dry as his bones. "If you would be so kind."

"Suit yourself," said Jack with a sigh. "Let's just hope the Atlantic deity or deities will be more favorable than the Caribbean one."

"I hope so too," said James. "Sparrow, do you know 'The Miller's Daughter?'"

"That I do," said Jack. "But that song gives me the wobblies. What about 'When that I was and a little tiny boy?' Hey nonny yes or hey nonny no?"

"_I dreamed that life was but a toy,_" sang James.

Sparrow's smile was broad and open. "_Hey, ho! The wind and the rain."_

Together they sang, "_For the rain it raineth every day." _James was delighted to remember almost all the words.

It was nearly an hour before Jack's rum-swilling caught up with him and he began snoring. James took pity on the naked man and laid his shirt over his torso and abdomen to protect him from the falling coolness. James reflected that there were some things to be said for being resistant to cold, heat, starvation, dehydration, and lust. However, he had temporarily forgotten that no good deed goes unpunished.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **© 2011 Mundungus42. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by JKR or any other lawful holder. Permission may be obtained by e-mailing the author at mundungus42 at yahoo dot com

* * *

><p>The next morning found James shirtless, rowing Jack to the boat. Jack was huddled in the prow with James's shirt wrapped around him like a crude loincloth, considering the best way to defuse the situation. He finally decided on the direct route.<p>

"M'sorry, mate," said Jack.

Norrington said nothing, but the set of his jaw and shoulders indicated that Jack wasn't getting off so lightly. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"S'not like I meant to do it. Involuntary reflex and all. After all those bawdy songs you can't blame me for having it on the mind, as it were."

Norrington was still silent, his eyes fixed on the boat beyond.

"I'll soak it in rum before washing it," Jack offered. "It'll be good as new. Better, even."

"Sparrow, just-" Norrington raised his eyes heavenward and sighed noisily through his teeth. "Shut up," he finished.

Jack bit back a sigh of his own. Navy lads were such prudes. When they reached the boat, Jack helped Norrington hoist the dinghy aboard without comment, and they weighed anchor in stony silence. There were heavy clouds on the western horizon, and Jack was secretly glad that today's sailing would occupy Norrington, since he wanted to be all scientific-like in taking their position. The scrub would have taken soundings if Jack hadn't stopped him with a pointed look. No point in taking soundings when you're in a tiny boat and you can see the ruddy bottom of the sea.

Since Norrington had things well in hand, despite acting as if Jack had despoiled his daughter, Jack made good on his promise and thoroughly soaked Norrington's shirt in rum and hoisted up some seawater to wash. There wasn't much to scrub it with, apart from the sand they'd tracked on deck, but it sufficed. Partially because he knew it was anathema to the Navy man and partially because it was practical, he hung the shirt to dry on the capstan.

As he swung over the weather-rail into the rigging, he sneaked a look at Norrington. He was satisfied to see Norrington scowling at the shirt-draped capstan as if it were a personal affront, which in this case it was.

Much cheered, Jack shinnied up to the crosstrees where he settled himself in for a peaceful watch, as long as the clouds didn't materialize into anything more severe. With the newly raked masts and topsail, they must have been doing eight or nine knots, and they would reach the Bahamas by sundown. It made Jack nervous to sail through pirate territory without even a pistol to his name, but not nearly so nervous as the American coast, given that it was occupied by a race more dangerous and bloodthirsty: the Puritans. But having got on their bad side once already, surely Norrington understood the need for subterfuge henceforth. Perhaps that was even why he allowed his shirt to stay on the capstan.

Jack scanned the horizon and saw a tiny speck on the horizon, no larger than a fishing boat. Still, Norrington struck him as the sort who wanted to know everything, so he gave a half-hearted "Sail ho."

"What is it, Sparrow?"

"Fishing boat heading two points starboard."

"Very good, Sparrow. As you were."

Jack bristled at the condescending, almost dismissive tone. "Why is it always Sparrow this and Sparrow that?" he complained. "You know my name. Why don't you ever use it?"

There was a considering pause from below "I don't use it because you never gave me permission to use it."

"Posiedon's pizzle, man, you're no longer in the Navy. You don't need permission to wipe your arse. If you want to do something, stop the shilly-shallying and just do it."

Norrington cleared his throat. "Very well."

The bugger wasn't going to do it. Perhaps it wasn't manners in whatever backwater Norrington called home.

The wind shifted mid-day, which reduced their speed, since they were now sailing close-hauled. One early afternoon call of "sail ho" became many as they neared Nassau, a port with even more scum and scallywags than Tortuga. Norrington screwed up his face in disgust as he donned his half-dried shirt. Jack knew he'd rather eat broken glass than appear slovenly in front of a bunch of pirates, and wondered what Norrington missed more, having a full set of clothes or bullion-trimmed jacket and a sword at his hip.

"You know, Jamey," Jack called from the crosstrees. "It might behoove us to stop."

"No."

"Think about it," said Jack. "What sort of impression do you think we'll make when we reach America?"

"Without a store of useful provisions or proper clothes, they will likely take us for subsistence fishermen."

"What about the rum?"

"Very well, brighter-than-average subsistence fishermen who have found an excellent way of dealing with poverty and fishwives. I'm not letting you near that den of thieves, no matter what you say, so do me the favour of leaving me in peace."

"I'd steal you a coat," wheedled Jack.

"No. We stick to our accord, which means steering clear of Nassau and praying nobody notices us."

There was a loud boom, followed by a splash nearly a cable's length ahead of them.

So much for that plan.

Both Jack and James spun to see where the shot had come from. A small brigantine of at least ten guns had hailed them, and James pursed his lips at the flamboyant paintwork that did little to conceal the filthy ship and crew.

Jack groaned. "It's Purple Percy. Where in the name of buggery did that grass-comber get that ship?"

Norrington glanced about the deck. They had no flags aboard, no guns - nothing to answer the hail. Jack seemed to notice it at the same time.

"Jim lad, if I were you, I'd disappear belowdecks right quick and make yourself look as un-Naval as possible, since Percy's brother was one of the many you doomed to the noose. Now, I'll return Percy's hail, and you let me do all the talking, savvy?"

At the mention of his former station, Norrington's stomach clenched. "We keep to our accord," he said warningly as he descended to follow Jack's instructions.

"Jamey my boy," said Jack heartily. "Trust me."

Norrington's answering snort was lost as Jack spun the wheel so as to stop their forward progress. Once concealed by the deck, Norrington kicked off his shoes and peeled off his hose. His breeches were a bit too clean, but at least dingy enough not to be mistaken for Naval whites. His queue was messy enough, and he was confident of not being recognized without a wig in place. He buttoned up his wet shirt and tied the remains of his necktie - his too-pale skin would immediately identify him as someone who usually toiled belowdecks, so he might as well look the part of someone attempting to keep up appearances, even on a pirate vessel.

He seized his tool box and a quantity of oakum, smiling at the pleasant childhood memories the smell of creosote roused, ostensibly to fill seams in the deck. He tried to keep his eyes down, but immediately decided that this was a bad idea because once again, Jack had removed his trousers. He was standing at the weather rail, nude from the waist down, except for his boots.

"Sparrow," hissed James through his teeth. "Where are your trousers?"

Jack grinned, his smile flashing gold. "Ran 'em up."

James gazed upward and, sure enough, he saw Jack's trousers waving from the topmast like a pennant in the breeze.

"That'll give 'em something to think about," said Jack with satisfaction.

Sure enough, the decks of Percy's ship, which had come up on them quickly, were abuzz with activity. James could just make out an individual flamboyantly dressed in purple clothing that had faded nearly to pink in the harsh Caribbean sun.

"Jim lad," said Jack in an unnaturally loud voice. "Why don't you go aloft and inspect the spars while I talk to this gentleman."

"Aye, captain," boomed James, swinging himself deliberately up the mast, trying to look comfortable, but not too comfortable doing so. Once there, he secured himself to the topmast spar and began to examine it, planing and sanding at non-existent flaws and occasionally tapping it with a mallet.

"Captain Jack Sparrow!" exclaimed a reedy voice. "How very nice to, ah, see you again."

"Captain Percival Packett," returned Jack. "How very nice it is to be seen."

"Indeed," said Percy, who took several steps forward, giving James a good look at him. He was short and skinny, though clearly he wished to disguise this with his French-style heeled shoes and heavy, lace-trimmed jacket, and his face was covered with the black velvet patches women frequently used to cover pox scars. He peered at Jack through a pair of gold pince nez. "I heard you was dragged down to Davy Jones's locker."

"Davy Jones forgot there were sea turtles there," said Jack with a saucy wink. "And if that was the last you heard, then you've missed out on a great deal."

"Some of us have been advancing our professional prospects," said Percy, gesturing at his ship.

"And a very pretty prospect it is," acknowledged Jack with a nod. "The paintwork is especially nice. Very you."

"And seventeen guns!" exclaimed Percy. "With a pair of thirty-two pounders that are the terror of the Caribbean!"

James just managed to hold back a snort. Such heavy firepower the brig might have, but he doubted they could be fired without causing structural damage to the decks.

"I imagine they've come in handy," said Jack, clearly thinking along the same lines as James. "One wonders at the lucrative trade that furnished such luxury."

"Slaves, naturally," said Percy. "The new world has an insatiable appetite for the black gold."

"I'm satisfied with my small armada," said Jack, with only a trace of irony. "The _Swan_'s a sweet sailor for my own needs, and the _Pearl_ is bound for Florida with my first mate seeking a legendary prize."

Percy looked down his nose at them. "Under your command, I'm sure," he said. "And this conveyance, I'm sure, carries a sweet quantity of rum."

Jack ignored the sneer. "I mean, look at the gun ports," he said loudly, gesturing toward the smooth side of the boat. "So perfect set they're practically invisible. Takes enemies by considerable surprise, it does, especially those who take her for granted," Jack's sharklike smile broadened. "That's what one gets for having a proper carpenter to build and keep her in repair."

Norrington swore inwardly. The last thing he wanted was for Purple Percy to take notice of him, which of course he did when he found himself unable to ascertain the location of the nonexistent gun ports.

"Dashed clever, that," said Percy, blinking owlishly at Norrington, who was knocking at the iron hoop that secured the topmast to the mainmast with his mallet. "I say, Sparrow, would you be a dear and loan us your carpenter for an hour or two? I'm considering a refit at Nassau and I'd like to know what repairs are most pressing and would be glad of some expert advice."

To his credit, Sparrow seemed to grasp the enormity of his error almost immediately and covered it with a bland smile. "I regret that I'm unable to spare him, as we are in something of an all-tearing hurry. We're being pursued by the _Flying Dutchman,_ and-"

"Poppycock!" exclaimed Percy, even as several of his crew members made various gestures against evil at the mention of the feared vessel. "Jones is dead and the Kraken with him." He gave Norrington an imperious glare. "Come over, my good man, and look snappy!"

One of Percy's crew laid a plank between the ships, and Norrington made a show of creeping fearfully over it. His mind was reeling. Of all the confounded bad luck - now Sparrow would be at liberty to steal his boat, recruit someone expendable from Nassau, and find the fountain on his own. He cursed himself for the worst kind of fool for telling Sparrow as much as he had. If Sparrow were feeling particularly devious, he would probably sell him to Purple Percy for a tidy profit. He glanced back at Sparrow, who looked forlorn, pathetically naked from the waist down and to all appearances aggrieved at the possibility of losing his carpenter, but James had been taken in by Sparrow's appearance more than once.

He gave himself a mental shake, reviewing all of his experiences from two decades previous and hoped it would be enough to maintain his cover as a ship's carpenter for however long he would be stuck aboard Percy's ship.

Percy was drumming his fingernails absently on the taffrail and gave James an appraising look. "What is your name, young man?"

"Jim, sir," said Norrington.

"Jim lad, I wish to mount my thirty-two pounders on either side of the forecastle here," he said. "What would be the best way to do it?"

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir," said James, adopting his native accent, "but you could mount 'em however you please, but it'd still spring her poor seams to do it," he said, gesturing at the ship's timbers and stomping on the deck for emphasis. "She's a lovely old barky, but she's not built to carry that kind o' firepower."

James smiled inwardly as he caught a glance of Sparrow's unflattering disbelief at his performance. That had to be a good sign. He was glad of it, because Purple Percy's face was living up to Jack's dismissive epithet.

"Are you sure you're a carpenter, sir?" he asked, spitting a little on his plosives. "For I've used those guns several times in battle already to great effect."

"I believe you, sir," said James knowingly. "I also believe you've likely had a foot or two of water in the well ever since."

A murmur went up from some of the men, and James fought to keep his expression bland.

"Now if you like, sir," said James placatingly, "I can rig up a right solid-looking truck that'll raise 'em above the fo'c'sle. If you keep them ruddy guns all bright and polished like they are now, just the sight of 'em will make most slow merchant vessels run up the white flag, if you take my meaning. Now, I'll be 'appy to take a look belowdecks and see if I can't do something about her poor leaky knees, if I could borrow one or two o' your crew?"

James at first thought he'd allowed a bit too much command come into his voice, but to his surprise, Percy thought for a moment and made a gesture at two of the men who had been watching. "Master Jim, we took an unlucky shot below the waterline that could use a better plug, if you would be so kind."

"'Appy to oblige, sir," said James, relieved to be doing relatively rudimentary repair work that was well within his scope. "Now, me tools are-"

"We will see that you are well-provisioned," said Percy, and he swept off towards his precious, useless guns.

True to his word, James was presented with handsome tools, hemp, and a full cask of creosote, and he set to work, hewing a new plug that wouldn't improve the ship's looks much, but would hold indefinitely. Fortunately, his orders kept the assigned men too busy to ask him questions. Besides, Percy's crew might not have been much to write home about, but he clearly inspired a kind of pride in his men, and they'd come into some share of wealth, which went a long way toward building loyalty. They probably looked down on him, for all his skills, for his association with Jack Sparrow, perennially the captain without a ship.

The repair was dirty, hot work, and Norrington was dismayed by the state of the ship's timbers, horribly stressed, the spirketting sprung in places from the abuse, but he patched, plugged, hammered, and reinforced to the best of his ability. Some time later, the captain appeared at his side and asked to see what James had done, and James showed him, recommending what timbers ought to be replaced on the next refit, nearly all of which had sustained some damage from the recoil of the thirty-two pounders. The captain asked a few questions that demonstrated a near complete ignorance of geometry, and James answered as well as he dared within his current guise.

When he and the captain finally emerged from belowdecks, James was dismayed to see that the sun was low in the sky. He had been below for nearly four hours. Surprisingly, his own boat was still there, though unsurprisingly, Jack and the dinghy were gone. James cursed him silently. If he were abandoned asea, he'd be a sitting duck for the _Dutchman_ unless he swam for lights of the port were already beginning to be lit, and James wondered which tavern Jack was in, hatching a plot with some murderous old acquaintance to steal a bigger ship and sail off, free as a bird. Belatedly, he realized Percy was inviting him to dine with the crew.

"I'd invite you to join me in the great cabin," he said, smoothing an eyebrow with his pinky, "but this evening I shall be entertaining a refined group, including a lady of great distinction."

"Beggin' the captain's pardon," said James meekly, "but I'm done in and should return to the ship. I had watch last night." He added a large yawn for emphasis. He would have to start swimming as soon as possible.

"We have a three-shift watch on the _Terpsichore_," remarked Percy.

James nodded his approval. It was a far more humane system than a two-shift watch. Not that he and Sparrow had any choice, there being only two of them.

"Not that a carpenter would have to be involved with watch," Percy added, looking hard at James. "If you were part of my crew."

James blinked hard. "Are you offering me a job, sir?" he asked, not having to feign the surprise in his voice.

"That was a tidy bit of work you did below, my dear mister- sorry, I don't believe I caught your surname?"

"Boggs," answered Norrington promptly, giving the name of his maternal uncle.

"Boggs," repeated Percy. "I could offer you a far more comfortable position than Jack Sparrow. And you wouldn't be idle by any stretch, and as carpenter, you'd be entitled to a generous share of all treasure. And I assure you, Mr. Boggs, we do very well aboard this ship."

James thought quickly on his abrupt change of fortune. He hadn't considered the possibility of going on without Sparrow. If, as Sparrow had opined, his former lover was sending the _Dutchman_ after Jack as revenge on the Pirate Brethren, then perhaps he would be safer with Percy's crew. Provided the _Terpsichore_ wasn't wrecked in a storm or crashed atop a reef, he was unlikely to meet with the _Dutchman_ while part of her company. And if Percy did trade in slaves, it was likely that he was frequently in Massachusetts delivering his cargo, so perhaps he could find the fountain on his own. He had seen the map, after all. Best to strike when the iron is hot, of course.

He opened his mouth to accept Percy's offer, when he was interrupted by a familiar voice drifting across the water, punctuated by the slap of oars on the water's surface.

"_We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot!_

_Drink up, me hearties! Yo ho!"_

Sparrow. Damn the man. Damn him to a thousand hells, the cheeky, sodding bastard, who had the audacity to stay true to his word for once.

"I'm much obliged to your honour," said James, bowing obsequiously to Percy to hide his smile, "but a ship's carpenter ain't a ship's carpenter without a warrant, and Jack Sparrow inherited my warrant when he took my old captain's ship. 'Owever, my warrant's up once we reach America. Iffin you think you'll ever be over Portsmouth way, I'll look for you."

"Your warrant?" exclaimed Percy. "What ship was you on?"

James paused. How much to give away? "_Interceptor,"_ he said, after pausing only a fraction of a moment. "I were aboard on surgeon's orders when Sparrow captured it."

Norrington felt a lump rise in his throat when he saw Percy's face darken in response to the ship's name. "If ever I owed Jack Sparrow thanks for anything, it was for bringing about the downfall of that black-hearted, thrice-cursed Commodore of Port Royal," he growled. Fortunately, the anger passed quickly, leaving only a sour sneer behind. "But if you think Jack Sparrow will release you according to your warrant, you obviously haven't had many dealings with pirates," said Percy. "More likely than not, he'll never let you touch foot on American soil."

"Aye, I reckoned that," said James, risking a wink. "That's why I told him my warrant was up when we reached Canada."

Percy stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then broke into shrill tittering laughter that quickly devolved into coughing. One of his crew members discreetly thumped him on the back, dislodging his _pince nez_.

"My dear Mister Boggs, we shall most certainly look for you in Portsmouth."

"I'd be most obliged to you, Captain," said James with a small quirk of the lips as he dashed across the boards to his boat, abandoning all pretence of being a landsman.

There was a squeal of pulleys from aft, and James ran over to help Jack hoist the dinghy up.

"Much obliged, Jim lad," said Jack, whose glittering eyes and rank breath supported James's assumption that Sparrow had been patronizing the local public houses. "Brought you a pressie!"

Sparrow staggered out of the boat and tossed James a jacket that looked to be nearly the correct size. Thankfully, it wasn't Navy blue, but a pale bottle green. Unfortunately, there was also a black tricorn that would have looked downright naval with a bit of gold trim atop a white powdered wig. James secreted the hat inside a coil of rope, hoping Percy hadn't seen it. However, James was grateful for the jacket, especially since the sun was moments away from setting, and the perspiration from his hard work was fast evaporating.

Jack nodded in satisfaction. "Thought it'd look well on you. Goes with your eyes. You done with Percy's boat yet?"

"As you see," said James, gesturing at the crew who were withdrawing the planks between their ships.

"Huh," said Jack. "I reckoned he'd have offered you a job."

"He did," said James. "However, we have an accord, you and I."

Jack drew back and gave him an exaggerated look of suspicion. "He'd have taken you to America."

"Yes, but so will you, and we've resolved to take the most direct route."

Jack gave him a lazy smile. "That, and if anybody on that tub recognized you, you'd be walking the plank fast as kiss my arse."

"That, too," said James. He was about to comment further when Jack's face closed, taking on a look of calculation.

James turned to see a frigate, a beautifully trim frigate with snow-white sails adorning its three proud masts, sail magnificently out of Nassau toward them, and he swore. "It's the _Halcyon_. She was under my command in Port Royal but was usually off cruising."

"Aye, that it is," agreed Jack. "A Naval vessel of some reputation for being fast and manoeuvrable So what in the name of all that's holy is it doing in Nassau?"

"Didn't you see it in harbour when you went ashore?"

"Didn't make it that far," said Jack. "I just liberated a few items from shipboard clotheslines."

"And your general state of intoxication?"

"Aw, that's just for fun, innit?"

James glanced at the _Terpsichore_, where, he was surprised to note, Percy was watching the _Halcyon_'s approach through his glass with something like pride. James turned back to the approaching ship, his ears straining for the bosun's trill or shouted orders, but upon closer examination, the ship was decidedly not in Naval trim. There was even a loud clunk aboard and a flurry of shouts when she dropped anchor a cable's length or so from them. The sails were also being doused clumsily, as if by a crew who had never done it before. And yet the ship was as pristine as if she'd just come out of the Naval boat yards.

How could she have been taken? An absurd memory crossed his mind of the way Sparrow and young Turner had taken the _Interceptor_, but surely his replacement in Port Royal would have heard of that infamous action and not allowed it to occur again. Unless, of course, he had been bamboozled by some far subtler ploy.

One of the _Halcyon_'s boats was lowered with surprising grace, containing three figures - two in rust-coloured jackets pulling rhythmically at the oars, and one slim figure in brown who Norrington recognized with a grin. Sparrow shifted uneasily next to him - clearly he recognized Captain Swann, even at this distance.

"Percy said he was entertaining a lady of importance this evening," commented Norrington.

"I think I'll just secret meself belowdecks," said Jack, wheeling about. "No need to vex her unduly. You might consider doing the same, mate. Last time she saw you, you were busy dying."

"That's quite all right, Sparrow. I should like very much to speak with her."

"Suit yourself, mate. But don't blame me if you end up manacled somewhere inconvenient."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," said James blandly.

As the dinghy neared, James's eyes sought Elizabeth's, and he fancied he saw the moment she recognized the boat she had seen in her dream. Fortunately, she was savvy enough not to call notice to it, and allowed her eyes to sweep the deck without calling particular attention to it. She was close enough now that he could see her radiant smile when she noticed him. His answering nod let her know that all was well.

The _Terpsichore_'s crew lowered a ladder as the boat neared, and James approached the weather rail to watch Captain Swann's ascent and reception by Purple Percy, when, to his horror, he heard his name being called.

"Commodore! Commodore Norrington!"

Elizabeth's crew in the rust jackets were standing in the dinghy and waving their arms like drowning men. One of them whacked the other gracelessly.

"He's not Commodore anymore, remember?" he said in a stage whisper.

"Sorry, your Admiral-ness," apologized the other, removing his hat to reveal a head of dark ginger hair that James recognized with a jolt. Of course. The two had been Marines at Port Royal, and later dispatched to the _Dauntless, _and still later to the various ships during his titular command under Cutler Beckett. Mulroy and Murtogg, if he remembered their names correctly.

"It's just like old times in Port Royal," Mulroy went on, hardly chastened. "You, us, and Miss Swann, pardon, her Majesty-Captain."

"Belay that chatter!" shouted Elizabeth, who leapt gracefully aboard the _Terpsichore _frowning. At least someone understood the situation with a fair amount of clarity.

James glanced up to the deck of the _Terpsichore,_ hoping by some miracle Purple Percy hadn't heard that exchange, but his hopes were in vain. Percy was staring at him in openmouthed disbelief, but it quickly faded into mauve-faced fury.

"Norrington!" he spat, pulling a pistol from his pocket. "Prepare to meet your maker!"

He fired, and even though Norrington knew the bullet couldn't wound him, years of training led him to leap aside, rolling across the deck as the ball whistled past his ear.

"I thought your invitation was to a party," said Elizabeth to Percy, with no small amount of disdain.

"Aye, a boarding party," growled Percy, knocking one of his crew members aside to seize the plank so recently lifted from between the ships. "An eighth of the next prize to the man who brings me that man's head!" he shouted, pulling his sword from his scabbard.

James leaped to his feet to push the plank off the ship, but Jack was there before him.

"Gentlemen," said Jack, bowing sarcastically to the men, his foot poised on the edge of the board. "Let this be remembered as the day that you never even came close to killing Commodore James Norrington." With that, he neatly kicked the plank aside, sending two unlucky men into the water below. He pulled two pistols from his belt and aimed them at Purple Percy, which brought the boarding crew up short. "You'll find the anchor's been weighed, Jim lad," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "I think it's time we made a hasty getaway, don't you?"

Norrington didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted to the helm and spun the wheel to set them on their previous heading. The sails obligingly filled with wind, and the boat leapt forward like an impatient horse.

"To the great guns!" howled Percy, furious that his quarry was getting away.

"Hey, it's Jack Sparrow!" exclaimed Mulroy from the dinghy "Just like in Port Royal!"

"Hallo, Captain!" called Murtogg. "We told Barbossa it weren't right to take your ship!"

"It got us marooned for our trouble," added Mulroy, "but 'Lizabeth needed a couple of-"

"Marines!" shouted Elizabeth, swinging back down to the dinghy. "Fire at will!"

"But he's out of range."

There was a loud thwack.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For being a blockheaded nincompoop!" shouted Murtogg.

"I ain't none of that!" protested Mulroy. "She said 'Fire at Will,' and Will's on the _Flying Dutchman_, which is at least two miles west northwest, and therefore out of range."

James fancied he heard every head within earshot of this proclamation, including his own, turn to the west, and sure enough, the dreaded ship was bearing down on them, close-hauled and sailing at top speed.

"Back to the _Halcyon!_" shouted Elizabeth, and the two Marines put their backs into it, splashing and pulling for all they were worth.

"FIRE!" came a bellow from belowdecks on the _Terpsichore_, and one of the gun crews managed to get off a shot that whistled overhead but left only a small hole in the jib. The deafening report of the great gun followed a split-second later, but James kept to his course.

A moment later, Jack appeared at his elbow.

"If you will pardon the interruption," said Jack, knitting his fingers together in a gesture of false supplication, "but we seem to be sailing right at the _Dutchman_, which, I'll remind you, has two gun decks to Purple Percy's one, and actually has the ability to remove you from this world permanently."

"That's true," said James, "but you're missing a large part of the equation, that being a Naval vessel at least as fast as the _Dutchman_, with more guns than the _Terpsichore, _and a captain twice as shrewd_."_

"Shrewd, she is at that," said Jack, frowning. "And about as trustworthy as a sea snake."

"I've found sea snakes to be quite gentle creatures that only bite when cornered."

"And you think you're immune to Captain Swann's bite, do you? Has it slipped your mind that her bloody husband is captain of that ship?" Jack shouted, putting his face very close to James's.

"Not at all. In fact, I'm rather counting on their engagement," said James, indulging in a rare pun.

Sparrow threw up his hands in frustration.

"Calm yourself, Sparrow. If you want something to do, adjust the windward braces. I don't like the way the wind is letting up. We may have to change course."

"Fortune forbid we should actually sail _away_ from our enemies," said Jack sarcastically, stomping gracelessly over to the ropes.

"Percy won't rest until he's convinced I'm dead," said Norrington pleasantly. "Thus, Nassau is closed to us. Great Abaco lies a mere forty miles north, and once past her shallows, we will be in friendlier waters. All we require is a few delaying tactics from Mrs. Turner, which I'm sure she will be happy to provide."

Jack sputtered for a moment, trying to decide which of Norrington's statements was more objectionable and finally decided on all of them. "A particularly smelly and painful pox on bloody-minded ex-Commodores!"

The _Terpsichore_ was firing regularly now, but their lucky heading and cooperative wind put them out of danger from a broadside. James risked a look over his shoulder. The _Terpsichore_ had weighed anchor and was changing course, and Elizabeth's dinghy was being hoisted back aboard the _Halcyon_. They would be along soon. Percy's crew may have been more experienced, but James suspected that Elizabeth was still a significant force to be reckoned with.

Norrington listened to the wind, and as he had feared, it was flagging, swirling in a less helpful direction. On the bright side, Percy was in the same wind, and his ship wasn't nearly as manoeuvrable as their boat.

"Wear on my signal?" Norrington asked. Sparrow was in a proper strop, to be sure.

"That'll put us under the _Halcyon_'s broadside," said Sparrow unhappily.

"That's right."

"And the Dutchman's nearly on us, too."

"As you see."

"Well," said Sparrow, reluctantly rolling up his sleeves, "maybe we'll get lucky and they'll crash into each other."

There was a boom from the west, followed by a chorus of whines that left a messy grouping of holes in the sail.

"Of course they're using grape shot," said Jack distastefully. "It'll pass right through you, but could be downright deadly for me."

"Not very sporting, is it?" asked Norrington. "But I don't think they'll be firing on us much."

"How'd you reckon?"

"Once Turner realizes that's his wife's ship, he may have a crisis of conscience."

Sparrow ceased sulking in his surprise. "You cheeky, cheeky bugger," he said. "Now would you stop gloating and turn the bloody boat already?"

As Norrington complied, there was an enormous explosion of splinters from the fore of the _Halcyon_, and he and Sparrow ducked as they rained on the deck, even as the report reached them. The _Terpsichore_ had fired one of its thirty-two pounders at them, but missed them and hit the _Halcyon._

"What the-" began Sparrow, but his query was drowned out by a quick reply from the _Halcyon. _

Norrington couldn't hold back an admiring grin at the accuracy of the _Halcyon's _guns. The shots had come from the great cabin, probably long nines that weren't quite as powerful as the _Terpsichore's_ thirty-two pounders, but they still made a mess of the _Terpsichore's _forecastle, and their recoil wouldn't tear the ship apart. And the array of twelve-pounders in in the upper deck's gun ports were all raked high enough to avoid the _Swann_ while taking a good shot at the _Dutchman_, if Turner should be so foolish as to continue the attack.

To James's amusement, Elizabeth had hoisted her own pennant that was similar to Jack's in that it wasn't a standard jolly roger, but one that looked like nothing so much as a lady's evening gown.

There was a chortle from his elbow and James saw Sparrow looking through his glass at the _Dutchman_.

"Young Turner's finally figured out who he's shooting at," he said, grinning. "That buys us some time, but it only delays the inevitable."

The _Dutchman_ was less than a cable's length away and had slowed to get a better look at their opposite number. The last rays of the sun had nearly faded from the western sky, which made the hulking _Dutchman_, sans lanterns, appear as a particularly malevolent cliff.

James glanced up at the _Halcyon_ and was surprised to see Elizabeth peering out one of the gun ports. She caught his eye and gave an impish grin that clearly said "_Watch this!" _before she withdrew back to the gun deck.

"Sparrow, it would take too long to explain how I know this, but I promise you: Elizabeth isn't trying to bring about a stalemate, she will give us cover."

"Sink us, more like," grumbled Jack.

"Do shut up and prepare to tack on my signal."

"Tack where? There won't be room," complained Sparrow querulously. "And what signal? What exactly are you-"

Jack's whinge was abruptly cut off by a deafening boom from the _Halcyon _as one of the twelve-pounders sent an iron ball over the top of their rigging.

Ears ringing and senses addled from the sudden blast, James couldn't hear exactly what Sparrow was saying, but he doubted it was anything complimentary. James shook his head to clear it and went to the weather rail to see exactly what damage Elizabeth's shot had done. To his amazement, the _Dutchman's_ crew were running about the deck like infuriated ants, all shouting at one another. Will's face was crumpled in confusion, and Norrington was nearly as confused as he was. There were no holes in the _Dutchman's _sails. Where on earth had the shot gone? She hadn't missed, had she?

There was a loud groan of timber, and Norrington's eye fell on the _Dutchman's_ mainmast, and he suddenly saw what Elizabeth's shot had done. She had taken an enormous chunk out of the base, and the mast was weaving ominously, the staysails stretched taut.

"That jammy wench!" exclaimed Jack. "She's done it!"

Slowly, majestically, and with the dignity due its stature, the _Dutchman's_ mainmast wove fore and aft before falling forward, crashing into the foremast and rending the standing rigging and staysails.

James let out a whoop, which was echoed by the crew of the _Halcyon._

"Three cheers for Captain Swann!" shouted one of the Marines.

While the _Halcyon_ hip-hip-huzzahed,James caught Jack's eye.

"Mainsail haul, if you would, Sparrow."

Jack shook his head, as if to securely lodge the vision of a lady pirate dismasting her own husband in his head for all time. "Aye, Commodore!"

They slid out from between the _Dutchman_ and the _Halcyon _behind the _Dutchman's _stern, which put the fearsome ship between them and the _Terpsichore, _which had 'vasted firing and was probably trying to figure out what was going on. The _Dutchmen_ hadn't given up trying to sink them and was peppering them with pistol and musket fire, as well as from the long nines mounted in the _Dutchman's _great cabin, whose muzzles glowed red from repeated firing. Fortunately they were too high up to do much damage, apart from putting a few sizzling holes in the topsail.

It was nearly dark as they beat for the open sea, but not too dark for the _Terpsichore _to take potshots at them with the thirty-two pounders. However, the wind was at their backs on the new tack, and their fast little boat would soon disappear into the blackness before Percy would be able to tack his ship. For the first time since escaping the seas of death, James welcomed nightfall.

"Oi, Commodore," said Jack, lowering his glass. "What exactly did you do to old Percy's tub?"

James released the helm and stretched his arms in the air, stretching his tired muscles. "Replaced a patch on a nasty hole below the water line and did what I could for her innards, which were in terrible shape from those absurd thirty-two pounders that he insists on firing. Why?"

"No reason," said Jack, with a careless gesture. "But she seems to be riding quite a bit lower in the water. Perhaps it's just a trick of the dark?"

Norrington joined Jack by the taffrail. The _Terpsichore's _lamps were lit as they continued their futile pursuit, but her beautiful lines were made downright comical by how close her decks were to the surface of the sea. "The old fool's sprung her seams at last."

"On the bright side, at least they'll be too busy pumping to shoot."

"Perhaps the kind thing would be to find them a nice reef to rest on," commented James.

"They'll never make it that far, Jamey," said Jack, his grin clearly audible in his voice.

"What's this, I'm no longer 'Jim lad?'"

"You've been downright resourceful today, so I'm promoting you to Jamey," said Sparrow. "Now, if I can get your promise that you will never do to one of my ships what you did to Percy's, perhaps one day I'll even call you James."

"Jesus Christ couldn't have saved that ship's knees from the damage inflicted by those guns," exclaimed Norrington hotly, until he realized that Sparrow was teasing him.

"No," agreed Sparrow, "but walking on water would have come in right handy."

They sailed on, and the _Terpsichore's_ lanterns grew farther and farther away, until at last they disappeared altogether.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** © 2011 Mundungus42. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by JKR or any other lawful holder. Permission may be obtained by e-mailing the author at mundungus42 at yahoo dot com

* * *

><p>The next evening, as the northernmost tip of Great Abaco faded in the distance, a dark bank of clouds appeared on the western horizon. Jack, who had been recumbent in the crosstrees, hailed James when he emerged from belowdecks, where he had been taking inventory of the sails. Jack was pleased to see that he was wearing the tricorn he'd liberated specifically for him.<p>

"Nasty bit of weather coming, I reckon," called Sparrow. "Probably best to turn back and ride it out on Abaco."

"Does this mean you're finally going to put on your trousers again?" came the acerbic reply.

"Jamey, mate, you've not lived until you've stood in the crosstrees with your vitals out in the bracing sea air. B'sides, the damn pulley's stuck."

There was a tap, tap, BANG from Norrington's mallet, followed by a squeal as the pulley unfroze, and Jack's trousers descended so quickly that he hadn't time to move out from under them. They flopped on top of his head.

"Put them on," came the order from below. "I'm hoping to reach the American coast by dawn."

"Have you forgotten the bally great storm heading our way?"

"Not at all," said Norrington, giving Jack a sympathetic glance. "But we're no longer in Calypso's realm, and this storm and I have unfinished business."

A low rumble of faraway thunder punctuated the end of his statement, and Jack felt a chill to his very bones that had nothing to do with his lack of trousers. He doused the topsail and tied it firmly to its yard. He did put on his trousers before descending, but he justified doing so by remembering how unpleasant hemp felt against one's bits and bobs.

Once on deck, he helped Norrington tie up the jib and spanker, leaving the boat with bare masts and yards. The boat looked even smaller than usual - downright minuscule against the clouds that crackled ominously with lightning as they drew nearer. Jack found himself more and more discomfited by their approach.

"I'll just take the rum belowdecks," said Jack. "P'raps I'll catch a bit of beauty sleep, if that's all right with you."

"By all means, Sparrow," said Norrington absently, unlooping the piece of rope that held the helm steady and standing by the weather rail, facing west, tense, but also anticipatory.

Fortunately, Jack was adept at seizing sleep whenever it was to be had, and was asleep before the first winds of the storm shrieked across the deck.

* * *

><p>Jack awoke in pitch darkness to the sound of a howling gale. Rain pounded on the deck nearly as loudly as the waves crashing into the side of the boat as it was tossed unresisting on the surface of the sea. Jack was grateful he'd slung a hammock, otherwise he'd likely be bruised by the sudden rising and falling of the floor. It also meant that he knew approximately where the hatch leading up to the deck was when he dared risking putting his feet on the floor. He contemplated going back to sleep, but if Jamey was out there getting soaked, Jack owed it to him to go up and mock him before returning to the snug, relatively dry belowdecks.<p>

He slipped out of his hammock just as the _Swan_ fell off the crest of the wave into a trough, which jarred him to his knees. However, kneeling turned out to be the best course of action, since it was a simple thing to feel his way to the ladder when he didn't have to worry about falling over. As he felt his way along the floor, he encountered something soft, which he quickly determined to be Jamey's coat and hat that had been hastily dropped down the hatch at some point while he slept. Grinning, Jack slipped on the green coat and was annoyed to find it a bit too long and too roomy in the shoulders. Still, at least it buttoned 'round the waist, even with his pistols in place, and Jack crawled the rest of the way to the ladder of the pitching boat, climbed up, and threw open the hatch.

The roaring forties might have been known for powerful storms, but this Atlantic one had it beat for violence. It was as if the wind, rain, and sea were all in disagreement which way to blow, drop, and swell, with their poor boat caught in the middle of it. Rather than the exaggerated pitch and roll that was second nature to Jack, the well-made little boat groaned and shuddered as wind and water lashed at it.

Jack managed to pull himself on deck and clapped onto the clews, lest he be blown away. He could just make out the flicker of a lantern aft, presumably by the helm, but couldn't make Jamey out. He waited for a split-second break in the rain, and when it came, his stomach clenched to realize that Norrington wasn't at the helm, which was spinning wildly. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen on the deck.

He swallowed, tamping down his feeling of dread. Norrington couldn't drown. He was going to be fine. When the boat fell into the trough of a large wave, Jack made a leap for the ratlines, and he threaded his arms through them just in time to be soaked to the skin by a sudden wall of water that decided to throw itself at him. He sneezed out the salt water that had gone up his nose and observed the fore through streaming eyes.

No Norrington.

Jack was about to return belowdecks to ride out the storm, since there no point in both of them being waterlogged when only one strictly had to be, when he heard something above the roar of the wind. He immediately recognised it as the strange voice that had sung to him before destroying the _Dirty Bottom_ and sending him to the ocean of the dead, and he very nearly stuck his fingers in his ears. However, this was Norrington's god, so it was manners to at least listen. Upon reflection, he supposed he could tell it was a male voice, but the god had to be a eunuch. It was no proper sound for a man past puberty to make, all fey and soaring. A man ought to sound more like - well, the second voice that joined the first. Deep and resonant, in a song without words that made his heart swell painfully.

However, the errant emotion submerged as soon as it had surfaced, and Jack realized that both voices were coming from directly overhead. In a flash of lightning, Jack saw Norrington, who had lashed himself to the mast atop the crosstrees in his shirtsleeves and breeches, looking like nothing so much as a flat-bosomed ship's figurehead, all dark hair and alabaster skin. Jack couldn't tear his eyes away, even between flashes of lightning, since the after-image of James's face lit his retinas, looking both tender and terrible, raising his beautiful voice in offering to his god.

At that moment, Jack felt very small, and more than a bit tawdry. It wasn't that he minded having had some thoroughly delightful canoodling with a deity, but that's all it had been – canoodling. Legendary canoodling, but canoodling all the same. But Jamey, he had something somehow more intimate and complicated. Hardly noticing the rain and wind, Jack grabbed a length of cable and tethered himself to the capstan, which gave him a nearly uninterrupted view of Norrington when the lightning flashed. And when it did, he fancied he saw a figure of mist floating near him, occasionally caressing James's arm or head with a foggy filament, its form never holding the same shape for more than an instant.

Well, no wonder it sounded like a girl. It had no corporeal body. Jack snickered. He regretted it almost instantly.

Within the space of a half-second, Jack's head had been thrown back against the capstan, his abused head throbbing in protest, a cold hand like iron at his neck. To his surprise, he could see the glowing outline of the god in front of him, shining like St. Elmo's fire. The god's face was clean-shaven, and in his hair, dolphins leaped and played. It was a beautiful, terrible face, and its fury was awful to behold. Jack cleared his throat as well as he could under the circumstances.

"Wasn't laughing at you mate," Jack lied, attempting a winning grin and failing. "Just something funny I-" Jack's words cut off, along with his airflow, as the god's hand tightened. Lightning flashed in his eyes, and Jack was prepared for the worst when he heard Norrington's voice floating over the angry roar of the wind.

He couldn't make out the words - they were in Italian, which was mushy under the best of circumstances since there weren't many hard consonants to cut through the storm's din, but the tone of the piece was unmistakable - calming and sweet, rather like a lullaby. Jack felt the hand on his windpipe ease, and breathed a sigh of relief even as Norrington's mellifluous voice filled his ears and brain with what felt like treacle, and he found himself yawning.

The capstan was cold against his back, but Jack felt warm and comfortable, secure in Norrington's voice. When the other voice joined him in duet it was beautiful. So very beautiful.

* * *

><p>Jack awoke in his hammock the next day and groaned. He reminded himself for the seven-hundred fifty-three thousandth time not to sup only on rum in the evenings. His head hurt nearly as much as it had the day he had first injured it, and he found himself unable to look directly at the beam of bright sunshine that cut through the gloom from the open hatch.<p>

Huh. He must have slept through the storm entirely. Or not. His memory felt fuzzy- perhaps a side effect of sleeping in a hammock? Still, he complimented himself on his foresight in sleeping in the hammock and hopped to the ground with more vigour than he actually felt, and climbed the ladder. He found Norrington sailing north northwest, and on the very edge of the horizon he could just make out an enormous land mass that he concluded was the American coast.

"Well, that's a fine good morning," he commented. "We're practically there."

"We still have a distance to go up the coast, but yes, the storm blew us rather fortuitously westward. There are some advantages to being dead."

"Aye, not having to relieve yourself over the side every morning," sad Jack, moving to do as he had described.

Norrington politely turned his back.

Jack pulled out his equipment and began to muse aloud. "Jamey, what do you reckon happened between Mr. and Mrs. Turner after we left him so lacking in upstanding timber?"

James was obviously ignoring him, so Jack went on. "I mean the rules are that he can only go ashore once every ten years, and he has to crew his ship with the dead, but you saw Jones with old Beckett. He can go ship to ship. So what's stopping Mr. Turner from going aboard the _Halcyon_ and having a bit of a belated honeymoon with Mrs. Turner?"

"Besides the aforementioned lack of up upright timber?" asked Norrington in so dry a voice that Jack knew he meant the mast that Lizzie had so accurately shot off the _Dutchman, _rather than the obvious joke. "He won't want to reward her for it."

"Aye, but reward her he shall, if against his better judgement. All men, even silly young ones like Turner, are drawn to dangerous mistresses, especially when they act the part. I seem to recall a certain Commodore admired her spirit, even."

"I still do," said James, and Jack was surprised that his voice was even, betraying no regret or wistfulness. "But that ship has sailed."

"Never fear," said Jack re-fastening his trousers. "When one ship sails out, mate, another ship sails in. You just have to keep an eye on the tide and wind, that's all."

It was then that Jack noticed that Norrington had hung his green jacket on the capstan. "Got a bit wet last night, did you?" he asked.

"I was navigating in, quite literally, a godawful storm. What did you expect?"

"I thought you'd at least take your coat off. It's not exactly new, you know. Material could crumble any minute when exposed to the damp."

"Well, perhaps you ought to have though of that before you decided to wear it up on deck. Honestly, Sparrow, I know you hit your head at some point, but I didn't think it would addle your brains to this extent. Or do I have your all-rum repast to thank?"

Jack covered his mild surprise that his dream wasn't actually a dream with a grin. "Fooling. 'Course I remember you warbling up a second storm with your soprano-singing, touchy-feely ball of smoke."

Norrington scowled at him. "I'll thank you to speak civilly when you discuss him. It's his doing that our journey has gone so quickly."

"No offence meant to your greatness," apostrophized Jack. "Or the missus here," he added, jerking his head at James."So, he's a tempestuous sea god, is he?"

"Among other things. And my word, look at that shoreline. We'd best wear and head due north."

"If you like, but while we do it, let's sing. You know he likes it. I like it, too, you know."

"Don't push your luck, Sparrow."

"Give over, Jamey. Don't be a stick. How about we give him _'_A Health to the Nut Brown Lass?'"

"I don't think that'd be to his taste."

"'Once, Twice, Thrice I Julia Tried?'"

"Definitely not."

"'An Acre of Land,'" suggested Jack. "He'd love the novelty of a song about farming._ 'Ivy sing i-ver-y!'"_

"_And a bunch of sweet holly and i-ver-y."_ chimed in James, almost reluctantly.

"Come on, then!" exclaimed Jack. "You take the wheel, I'll set the sheets._" _He took a deep breath and started to sing. "_My father left me an acre of land! Ivy sing i-ver-y!"_

To his satisfaction, Norrington's voice joined his. "_My father left me an acre of land! And a bunch of green holly and i-ver-y!"_

Jack loosed the braces and hauled them. "_I ploughed it with a ram's horn! Ivy, sing i-ver-y!"_

James spun the wheel, and they turned due north. _"I sowed it with a thimble!"_

They both joined in on the refrain. "_And a bunch of green holly and i-ver-y!"_

* * *

><p>They continued through the verses, and Jack felt his heart lift with the pleasure of combining work with music, and by the time they got to the part about the team of great rats, a twinkle could be seen even in Norrington's stern eye. Even when there was no more work to busy their hands, they stood companionably by the helm and finished the song as lustily as Jack had started it. As if to punctuate the final note, a large flatfish flew out of the water and landed at Jack's feet. He picked up the wriggling fish by the tail and glanced at James. "That's a good sign, innit?"<p>

James looked longingly at the fish that he wouldn't be able to enjoy eating. "So it would seem."

They sang their way up the Atlantic coast, passing numerous fishing and shipping vessels, occasionally encountering rain that would sing along with them, and sometimes receiving sudden swells to protect their ship's bottom from hidden rocks. James was in all-out sailing master mode, frequently consulting the charts and comparing them to Jack's map, taking measurements with his sextant, and occasionally barking orders at Jack.

For his part, Jack was so relieved to be enjoying the tangible benefits of a new god that he hardly minded. Norrington was doing most of the work anyway, what with navigating, always remaining on watch while Jack slept, and never complaining, though of course the curse had to be wearing on him. As a courtesy, Jack made a special effort to indulge in his vices belowdecks where Norrington wouldn't see or hear.

On the fourth morning, nearly mid-day, Norrington ordered a larboard tack that told Jack they'd reached their destination. They were approaching a narrow, shallow harbour, and smoke rising in the east indicated that civilization, or as close as it got in the colonies, would be found past the harbour mouth. On Norrington's command, Jack doused the topsail and slid down the ratlines to deck.

He was about to man the halyards when the sound of Norrington clearing his throat made him turn around.

"Sparrow, before we make landfall, I might suggest that you make yourself a bit more presentable."

Jack tossed his bauble-bedecked hair. "I might say, my uncombed Commodore, that I'm more presentable than you are at present."

"We are about to be among Puritans, Sparrow. They hang people like you as witches for looking at them crosseyed."

"Far be it for me to tell you how to look as dull as possible," said Jack, bowing insouciantly, "Incidentally, I did prepare for this eventuality, so you needn't worry about me appearing too piratical. I'll just go freshen meself up."

"By all means."

As the boat sailed into the mouth of the harbour, James sang a snippet of a farewell song in thanks to Njord, and a breeze caressed his face as it passed, then was gone. He glanced down at the cold, seemingly opaque water and was grateful for the boat's shallow draft that would keep them from running aground. The mud flats shown on the map would be tricky to navigate in a larger vessel. He consulted the map for what felt like the thousandth time and tried not to think about the last time he'd been in this cold, unforgiving place as a young man, keen to prove himself. Self-consciously, he removed his hat, unbound his queue, and ran his fingers through his hair to remove the worst of the tangles. His stockings and breeches would never be white again, and his shoes were battered and salt-stained, but the jacket and hat would lend him some air of respectability. He hoped that the time spent in Sparrow's company hadn't ruined him permanently for polite company.

The clunk of a pair of unfamiliar shoes drew him from his introspection, and he watched in amazement as an outlandishly-dressed dandy tottered up from belowdecks on a pair of French heeled shoes that rivalled Purple Percy's for height. James belatedly realized that the entire ensemble had probably been liberated from Percy's wardrobe when he was overseeing Norrington's carpentry and began to laugh.

"I say," said Jack, adopting an aristocratic whine. "That's hardly manners."

"They'll have you drawn and quartered," said James, admiring Jack's audacity and skill with the disguise.

"La," said Jack dismissively. "As long as they don't do anything that would disappoint my future lady, if you take my meaning."

James walked around him, but he could find no fault with Jack's disguise. The brocade jacket and braid-trimmed breeches fit him perfectly, as did the silk hose and elaborate black wig, atop which he had perched a feather-trimmed monstrosity of a hat. Jack had also wiped off his kohl and shaved his chin, leaving only the narrow moustache on his upper lip, and his face was heavily powdered to mask its swarthy colour. Seeing him in gentleman's dress for the first time made James realize that Sparrow's build wasn't as stocky as the numerous layers of clothing he habitually wore had led him to believe. Perhaps that was part of his preternatural skill with a blade - to appear slow and languorous until the moment to strike.

"Perhaps, they'll mistake you for King Charles and behead you," mused James. "I must admit, Sparrow, I am deeply impressed."

"It's nothing, really," said Jack, swishing his handkerchief at James and preening. "Now, my dear Captain Boggs, if you would be so good as to anchor this thing and row us ashore, I should love to speak with a proper American savage."

James didn't bother trying to hide his smirk as he bowed. "If your Lordship would like to wait belowdecks, I should be happy to call you when we are anchored."

"Do, do," said Jack, strutting absently about the deck for a moment before doing as James bade and tottering below.

They were now in sight of the wharf, which was surrounded by small fishing boats and a single schooner being loaded with cargo. Below, he could see the fishwives laying out armloads of sea moss to dry on the docks. To the northeast lay the town of Scituate, home to several thousand souls, though perhaps more now, since the town was noticeably larger than he recalled, though no cheerier, all grey and brown wooden houses with the occasional whitewashed edifice. To the south lay a vast salt marsh, its yellow reeds concealing thousands of strange birds, and to the north, deep forest. The new mill was still there, though looking slightly less new now, situated on the town's namesake brook that flowed into the harbour and would serve as their guide into the woods. That insignificant waterway was the landmark that would lead them to the fountain, if the map was to be believed.

James manoeuvred the boat just north of the wharf and lowered the anchor. He doused the remaining sails, a job that would have been faster with two, but it would have looked suspicious for Jack, dressed as he was, to help. James felt a sudden pang, realizing how much he'd come to depend on Sparrow, and thanked his lucky stars that for better or for worse, he would soon be on his own once again. When the last sail had been tied up, he lifted the hatch.

"If your Lordship pleases, we are free to go ashore."

"Oh!" came a sleepy yawn from below. "Is it that time already? Very well, I shall be along presently."

James readied the dinghy, including a canvas bag that contained extra clothes and food for their inland trek, and waited for Jack to make his appearance. He rose from below like an actor on a platform, his face twisted in a supercilious grimace as he looked down his nose at his surroundings. James was strongly reminded of Cutler Beckett and suppressed a smile.

"I say, it's not much to look at, is it? And it's so terribly small."

"We're some miles south of Boston, my lord," said James, gesturing for Jack to sit in the bow of the dinghy, which he did with much tottering and arranging of the tails of his coat.

James lowered them into the water and rowed them to the wharf, where he secured the dinghy to the sea wall near a paved stile. They made quite a production of getting Jack, who played the useless toff to the hilt, out of the dinghy and up the stairs.

"Captain Boggs, pray let me rest a while," he said, leaning against a post and puffing in exertion. "I am quite done in. Pray, where is the nearest public house? I require something strong for my nerves."

Several fishwives and dock workers stopped working to gape at the extraordinarily dressed man in their midst.

"I'm afraid this is a land of temperance, my lord," said James apologetically. "You'll find no spirits here."

"You must be joking," replied Jack, sounding scandalized. "My good man!" he called, strutting over to a gentleman in black who was standing on a box at the intersection of two streets. "Can you- oh, heavens, is that a newspaper?"

"It is not, sir, but my most recent pamphlet."

"How jolly!" exclaimed Jack. "What's it called?"

"_The Bloody Stain of Bloody Persecution Made Even Bloodier Through Bloody-Mindedness._"

"Come again?"

"I'm afraid it won't make much sense to one such as you," sniffed the man, looking Jack up and down scornfully.

James fixed the man with his coldest glare. "I should be careful with how you address his Lordship, if I were you," said Norrington icily. "Men such as he write the charters allowing men such as you to live here. They can also amend them."

The man looked as if he wished to argue, but spread his hands obsequiously. "Begging your Lordship's pardon for any offence," he said. "I meant only that this pamphlet is in response to a foul heresy, and if one hasn't read that, it will be difficult to follow."

"It would be difficult to follow regardless, Smith! You've the rhetorical skills of a poxed baboon!" shouted another man in black who stood on a wooden box across the street. He also carried a sheaf of pamphlets.

Smith ignored the man. "If you wish, I can provide a copy of my first pamphlet, _The Bloody Cross of Blood._ It was the opening salvo in my battle to save the souls of all for Jesus Christ." He scowled at the man across the way. "No matter how stiff-necked the people."

"Dashed good of you," said Jack, taking the creased pamphlet.

"Here now, you're missing what's important!" exclaimed the other man, waving his arms in the air so violently that he nearly toppled off his box. "_The Bloody Cross of Blood _assumes a boneheaded literalist interpretation of the fundamental relationship between Jesus Christ and his holy church. I outline this in my response, _The Bloody Cross of Blood Washed Clean in the Blood of the Lamb_." He waved a pamphlet at them, and Norrington crossed the street to take it.

"If you read that, you must have my response to Mr. Johnson, _The Bloody Cross of Blood Yet More Bloody!"_ exclaimed Smith, handing Jack another pamphlet.

Johnson handed Norrington another pamphlet. "Here. Take this copy of _Blood! Blood! How Sweet the Blood. _That settles Smith's hash, undeniably."

"Lies, all of it!" cried Smith. "As I outline in this pamphlet, _Blood, Sweat, and Tears. Let These Rule Among You, Yet the Greatest of These is Blood!"_

"Lies, eh?" retorted Johnson. "He has yet to refute the claims made in _The Bloodiest Tenet of Bloody Tenets."_

"Clearly you have not read my latest," declared Smith, waving a pamphlet. "My lord, be so good as to deliver a copy to that rude fellow who stands opposite."

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" exclaimed Jack. "All this pamphlet-distribution strikes me as a poor way to settle differences. Why not simply settle things _mano a mano_ with swords?"

Both men looked scandalized. "I would not spill the blood of a brother Christian," said Smith.

"I wouldn't spill the blood of a fellow man of God," said Johnson.

"_I _wouldn't spill the blood of any man, for all men were created in God's image," snapped Smith.

"_I_ wouldn't spill the blood of the least of God's creatures, for He made them all!" shouted Johnson, waving his armful of pamphlets.

"It's people like this who make state suppression of the press look like a good idea," whispered Jack under his breath to Norrington as he delivered Smith's pamphlet to Johnson.

Johnson squinted and began to read. "I had anticipated this," he announced, looking up from the parchment. "That's why I had the foresight to write _The Universally Bloody Crown of Bloody Thorns, Which Cannot By Definition be More Bloody, _if you would do me the honour of giving it to the hypocrite across the street."

"Much obliged to you," said Smith when they handed him Johnson's rebuttal.

"Certainly," said Norrington. "Now if you would be so good as to direct us to somewhere his Lordship can get a meal."

"Will you be needing a place to stay?" asked Johnson, who had unnaturally good hearing.

"Thank you, no" said James. "We follow the stream this afternoon."

"Why would you want to do a thing like that?" asked Smith.

"His Lordship is a natural philosopher interested in the shapes of rocks," lied Norrington glibly. "He has heard of fascinating caves nearby."

"Bah, you'd be wise to abandon that errand!" said Johnson. "A foul witch lives in the wood."

"She lures weary travelers to her house where she attempts to seduce them with her copious charms," added Smith.

"So this witch," said Jack stroking his chin where the beard had been, "is she foul or fair?"

"She is neither foul nor fair," said Johnson.

"She is _both_ foul and fair," corrected Smith. "And those unprepared souls who enter her house are never seen again!"

"We have no business with a witch," said Norrington testily. "We simply wish for a hot meal."

"You'll want Goody Hardwicke's," said Johnson. "It's not far down the road there."

"You'll know it from the heavenly odour," added Smith.

"I'm much obliged to you gentlemen," said Jack, inclining his head slightly.

"Not at all," said Smith. "I do hope you will read the pamphlets."

"I'm sure they will prove invaluable," said Norrington, imagining how much easier it would be to light fires in the forest with such fine kindling.

Both men beamed at them as they took their leave, and Jack and James managed to hold back their snickers until they were out of earshot. Goody Hardwicke's was close at hand, judging from the odour of cooking fish that hung heavily in the air. The smell emanated from a small house, made from the same weather-greyed boards as most of the rest of the town. James knocked on the door, and a tall, imposing woman answered. The sleeves of her plain homespun dress were rolled up, her apron damp and wrinkled, and individual hairs were beginning to escape from her carefully plaited hair. But it was her face that made James's heart beat faster. Goody Hardwicke possessed a pair of strikingly blue eyes that were rimmed by lashes so pale they were nearly white. They were eyes that once seen, one would never forget. James certainly hadn't.

After being tartly informed that the fruits of her kitchen were intended for the poor, Jack and James were able to parley their way into bowls of seafood stew in exchange for the latest news from England, which Jack manufactured with great relish. James was glad he was not expected to contribute, especially since he hadn't set foot on English soil for several years, and he doubted Jack had been there more recently. Goody Hardwicke had a surprising penchant for violent goings-on, and tutted in shocked disapproval, all the while asking for more news. When Jack launched into a fiction about the Earl of Doncaster that could only end indelicately, Norrington cleared his throat.

"I beg your pardon, Goodwife Hardwicke," said Jack, "the details of the story seem to have gone right out of my head."

"Perhaps some more stew would restore your Lordship's memory?" she asked hopefully.

"I regret that we must be on our way," said James. "We have a long road ahead of us."

"Will you not be staying in town?"

"His Lordship wishes to see your great forests," said James.

At the goodwife's horrified look, Jack held up a hand to forestall her. "You needn't worry about our souls, my dear. They are well-fortified with the words of your local scribes."

"Those vainglorious scoundrels!" exclaimed Goody Hardwicke, scowling at Jack's armful of pamphlets. "They'll argue for hours over Constantine's contributions to our faith and the necessity of keeping the body politic separate from the holy church, but ask them something as simple as the character of the relationship between the individual spirit and the divine Father and they gape like landed cod. They know their Bible, I'll grant them, but who in this day and age can't quote the Good Book? Those old troublemakers will be following Roger Williams and his ilk out into the wilderness one day, mark my words."

"Pardon my ignorance, goodwife, but is Roger Williams the witch we were told to be wary of?" asked Jack.

"The Lord love you, no, he was a minister and scholar from Massachusetts Bay Colony, later banished for seditious preaching." Her stern face grew kind. "You have nothing to fear from any witch if you keep the teachings of our Lord in your hearts."

"What about savages?" asked Jack hopefully.

Goody Hardwicke's striking eyes softened. "We see few of them since the war," she said. "It's just as well for all of us, but I do hate to see any person denied the grace of God and the company of good Christians."

"Your sentiments do you much honour, Goody Hardwicke," said James softly.

She looked at him curiously. "Were you ever in our town before, captain? Your face is familiar to me."

James's face didn't betray the bolt of panic that shot through his stomach. "Mine is a face that reminds people of others," he said. "I hope it brings with it pleasant associations."

If Goody Hardwicke noticed the evasion, she said nothing.

Jack cleared his throat. "I fear we must take our leave. Thank you, Goody Hardwicke, for your kindness and hospitality."

"The Lord telleth us to feed the hungry," she said piously, rising with them and seeing them to the door. "May He be with you on your journey."

When they were out of earshot, Jack cuffed Norrington on the arm. "You scabrous dog," he said enviously. "That wench was interested in you."

"That 'wench,'" said James with heavy irony, "could have me executed a spy if she recalls the circumstances under which she saw me before. She was Miss Anne Baxter then, a paragon of Christian charity who took in a stranger, cleaned his wounds, and asked no questions of him. He disappeared the next day on a ship bound for Jamestown, before his pursuers caught up with him."

Jack swore. "Then why on earth couldn't you summon a better lie? Or any lie at all?"

James opened his mouth, then shut it. He didn't know why he couldn't lie to her, and he certainly couldn't explain it to Jack, who lied habitually for fun. He risked a glance over his shoulder and was dismayed to see Goody Hardwicke watching them thoughtfully from her open door.

"When we return, if we return," he said seriously, "we arrive and depart under cover of darkness."

"What if you're still, you know, on the bony side?" asked Jack, wriggling his fingers.

James pursed his lips. "Then we pray for rain, or clouds, at least."

Fortunately, the brook was easy to find, albeit challenging to follow. Where James recalled smooth trails from when the natives roamed the woods freely there were now thickets and bushes, dense with thorns. After having his wig pulled from his head by low branches several times, Jack abandoned wearing it altogether and rolled it up with his hat. The heavy brocade jacket soon followed, and the silk hose, which were in danger of being ripped to shreds by brambles, and the heeled shoes were soon traded for his sensible boots. James was grateful, at least, that the underbrush discouraged Jack from going trouserless.

Deeper and deeper into the woods they went, following the stream up hills and meandering through meadows. By the time the sun was low on the horizon, James estimated they had covered at least five miles, and they made camp a short way from the stream in the lee of a clump of thorn bushes. James recalled hearing stories of wild creatures in the forests, and he hoped to make their camp site as difficult to access as possible, even if Jack complained about potential damage to his tender bits if he had to pass water in the night.

It was a warm evening, even for New England, and given James's concerns, they agreed not to light a fire and Jack supped on dried beef and hardtack softened in river water. When the sun was down, Jack laid out his bedroll and lay down. Within five minutes he was snoring, his head propped on his bag.

The night was clear, hang it all, and before long the moon rose. James looked in dismay at his skeleton hands and sighed, despite knowing he actually had no lungs with which to do so. He sat still, staring at the bushes directly in front of him, trying not to turn every sound in the forest into an approaching search party, and focused on the sound of Sparrow breathing.

He was fast asleep, and his chest rose and fell rhythmically. In the moonlight, without his trademark kohl or chin braids, Sparrow looked surprisingly young. It was then that James wondered what Sparrow's age was. He was certainly older than himself, but how much older James couldn't guess. He leaned closer at Jack's sleeping face, and even in the dim light from the waning moon he could make out deep creases around Jack's eyes and on his forehead that spoke of many years in the brutal Caribbean sun and astringent sea air.

Jack's mouth had fallen open, revealing his unnaturally shiny metal teeth, which ruined the illusion of the dim aristocrat. James was all the more surprised that he hadn't noticed at the time, but Jack, when he was dressed as a lord, had pinched his mouth when he spoke so as to hide his exotic teeth as much as to convey a sense of _noblesse oblige_. Clever. But what about the man wasn't?

James's perusal was cut short by what was unmistakably the murmur of voices nearby, and it wasn't merely his fancy. He shook Jack sharply, and his eyes flew open. His hand shot to his hip where his sword would have been when he froze, clearly remembering who he was with and where he was. He took a breath to speak, and James put his finger to his lips.

The voices were getting closer, and both men by unspoken agreement quietly rose to their knees to peer over the tops of the thorn bushes. To James's dismay, four lanterns were clearly visible making their way up the river, following their trail, which was obvious from all the branches they'd broken or displaced. For all their care in selecting a camp site, their trail would lead their pursuers to them in minutes.

James thought very quickly. When he'd been pursued similarly, he had taken care to lay a false trail, but it was too late for that. The other option was to cause a distraction, which could prove detrimental at such close range. Sparrow looked to be thinking as quickly as he could.

"We've got to hide you, you bag of bones," whispered Jack.

Suddenly an idea burst into full bloom in James's mind. "And where better to hide than in plain sight?" he returned. "Stay here, Sparrow. I'll lead them away."

Jack looked scandalized, but there was a light of curiosity in his eye. James smiled, for all that the expression likely appeared ghastly rather than reassuring on his face, and he picked silently around the bushes to the trail they'd cut to their camp. He immediately began to run in the direction the river ran, taking care to make as much noise as possible.

The voices immediately broke into excited words, which became shouts, but James was running too quickly to hear them clearly. What he sought lay between a quarter and an eighth of a mile back, and so he ran, weaving through the trees and leaping bushes in the dim moonlight. Low branches tore at his clothes and the shreds of skin that hung to his arms and face, but he felt nothing apart from the need to lead the men away from Jack's hiding place.

After what seemed like an interminable amount of running, James came to the place he'd spotted earlier, a broad meadow filled with grass and wild flowers that had been nibbled short by numerous deer. A glance heavenward made a knot of uncertainty in his stomach loosen; the night was completely clear. James could see his pursuers' lanterns growing steadily closer, and he trampled the grass off to one side as best he could, then concealed his coat beneath a bush, loosened his neck tie, and unbuttoned his shirt. He lay on the ground, limbs partially splayed, closed his eyes and waited for them to come.

The night insects that had silenced at his arrival began to sing again as he waited. Some minutes later, the garbled voices became clear.

"-back to England in a burlap sack," one was saying angrily. His voice was commanding and sure.

All were out of breath, James was pleased to hear, once again thanking his god for letting him be preserved in this way.

The men paused in their progress. "The trail goes this way," said another man gruffly. James imagined a barrel-chested man as the speaker, the town blacksmith or a stevedore.

"I don't think it was our men at all," said another, whose reedy voice suggested someone aged and choleric. "I think we let a deer distract us from our pursuit."

"A deer doesn't make that much noise," said the last, whose voice was deep and mournful. "Nor does a deer make this sort of trail. Maybe a panther chasing a deer."

A tracker. James swallowed in spite of his resolution to lie perfectly still. Such a man could see through the ruse if he chose to look. James's only hope was to distract him from looking.

James ceased breathing, something that he found surprisingly easy to do, and lay still. He could see their lanterns beneath the fringe of his eyelashes.

"Look over there!" called the leader, taking several quick steps towards James and stopping suddenly when he saw what lay before him.

"Christ have mercy!" said the old man in horrified tones.

There was silence as the men surrounded him, holding their lanterns up to view the grim spectacle beneath them.

"Which one of them was it, do you think?" asked the blacksmith.

"The captain," said the leader confidently. "Look at his breeches. Once Naval whites, I should think."

"What happened to him?" asked the old man.

"Panther, probably," said the tracker. "Then the myriad scavengers."

"To have so little of him left," began the old man. "God rest his soul."

"He was a traitor and a spy," said the leader flatly, "and he got what he deserved."

"What about the dandy he was with?" asked the blacksmith.

"From how my wife described him, he's probably fallen off a cliff by now," said the leader. James nearly smiled. So this was the estimable Mr. Hardwicke.

"Unless it was a ruse," said the tracker thoughtfully.

"Come now, gentlemen," said Hardwicke. "It really doesn't matter. Our spy has been dealt with. The other man is incidental and none of our concern. We have no evidence of wrongdoing, apart from having the bad luck to sail with a known spy for the crown."

"Should we, say a few words?" asked the blacksmith.

"It would be the Christian thing to do," said the old man.

"It's impractical to bring him to town," said the blacksmith. "He'd probably fall apart if we tried to pick him up, the poor devil."

"Then let us say a few words for his departed soul," said Hardwicke impressively, "as he returns to the bosom of our Lord."

The men proceeded to give James a solemn funeral, even going so far as to toss a few clods of earth on him. The Puritans were quite decent folk, all things considered.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** © 2011 Mundungus42. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by JKR or any other lawful holder. Permission may be obtained by e-mailing the author at mundungus42 at yahoo dot com

* * *

><p>Nearly two hours had passed by the time James returned to the camp site. To his surprise, Jack, skilful opportunistic sleeper that he was, was wide awake and let out a powerful sigh of relief.<p>

"It's about time you came back, Jim lad," he said with deliberate nonchalance.

"No more Jamey?" asked Norrington with a smirk.

"After that addle-pated, half-cocked plan of yours? You're lucky not to be permanently saddled with the title 'lubberly numbskull.'"

"It drew them away from you and got me back safe and relatively sound, didn't it?" asked James, lying on the ground near Jack's bedroll. "Get some sleep, Sparrow. We've got a long walk ahead of us tomorrow."

"It would've been your funeral if it hadn't worked," said Jack darkly.

"Oddly enough, it was," said James lightly.

Surprisingly, that was all the reassurance Jack needed to lie back down on his bedroll and go promptly to sleep.

To ensure that they would leave no trail for anyone who chose to go looking for Jack or James's remains, James insisted that they cross the river frequently. Fortunately, it was shallow and rocky where they had camped, and they were able to hop on the stones for nearly a quarter mile before the river picked up speed and they had to return to cutting a path above the bank. After a miserable morning of helping Jack kill as many black flies and mosquitoes as humanly possible and discovering a plant that made Jack 's skin turn red and itch, they came across an indentation in the face of a bluff, from which a thin trickle of water flowed.

"I think this is it," Jack announced, flipping his compass open.

"The fountain?" asked James, absently crushing a mosquito that had landed on Jack's shoulder blade.

"No, this," said Jack, holding up the map fragment and pointing at a simple line drawing showing a waterfall pouring out of a rock.

James pursed his lips. "I could grow to despise this cartographer," he said.

"It could be that we're not dealing with a deceptive cartographer, merely an incompetent one," commented Jack.

"Regardless, I think it wise to cut due south from here. Don't you agree?"

"That's the way to the fountain," said Jack, slipping into a narrow trail that wound southward through the brush. The imprints of cloven hooves in the dried mud calmed James's nerves - the path they were following was made by deer, not men.

"You do realize that there may not even be a fountain," said James.

"Aye," said Jack.

"And we will never see our boat again."

"I think it likely," agreed Jack.

"Doesn't this bother you?"

"I figure we can seek quarter with Roger Williams and his ilk," said Jack. "No love lost between him and the people who want to kill you. Though we'll have to come up with a better story. Hiding with Puritans isn't really in the right idiom."

"Of course."

They continued on, saying little unrelated to finding their way, and spent an uneventful night camped among the trees, though it took Jack longer than usual to fall asleep, thanks to the itching. The next morning, James roused himself at dawn and wandered over to the stream they'd passed to fill Jack's water skin. However, he noticed something odd through the trees.

Once the skin was full, he returned to Jack, who was sucking on a piece of hardtack to soften it.

"I think there's a dwelling nearby," said James, handing him the water skin, from which Jack drank gratefully.

"Much obliged, Jamey. What did you see?"

"A white wooden fence," said James, pleased to have been promoted to Jamey once more. His sister had called him Jamey.

"Odd thing to find in the middle of the woods."

"My thoughts precisely."

"Do you suggest that we commence with sneaking so as to observe aforementioned fence without being seen ourselves?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth, Sparrow."

They packed their meagre belongings and picked their way quietly through the trees. To James's surprise, they encountered a cottage in the meadow that was straight out of a fairy tale. It was a lovely cottage with whitewashed walls and a thatched roof, and the mullioned windows shone in the morning sun. Bushes heavy with enormous roses flanked the front door and perfumed the air, and the clean white fence surrounded a garden, in which poles for growing beans could be seen. No smoke rose from the chimney, so it was impossible to tell if the house was occupied, but James knew instinctively that a dwelling this well-tended was being lived in.

Jack jerked his head in the direction of the fence, and they crept to the edge of the garden. The bounty in the small garden defied belief. All manner of vegetable grew there, many exotic plants, and most in unnatural stages of ripeness for the season. There were even fruit trees. James had no appetite, of course, but even he could appreciate the sight of tomatoes ripening on the vine. And Jack, who had probably lived on dried bread and beef for most of his adult life, was fairly salivating at the array of edibles. Before James could caution him, he had swung a leg over the top of the fence and hopped nimbly inside.

"Do you think that a wise idea, Sparrow?"

"Nobody's about, 'cept for ourselves," said Jack, seizing a red apple from the nearest tree and tossing it high in the air. "It'd be a shame to let all this good food go to waste."

Suddenly, there was a loud crack, and the apple exploded in mid-air. A shower of apple chunks rained down on Jack, who wasted no time in leaping back over the fence and away from the sharpshooter. James ducked as well and peered through the slats of the fence. The back door of the cottage opened, and to his shock, a stout woman in a linen shirt and long buckskin skirt stepped out of the door holding a rifle nearly as long as she was tall. As she walked, the butt of the rifle rested on her foot while she thrust a ramrod down the barrel. She kicked the gun up and expertly poured a bit of gunpowder down the touchhole, snapped the frazzle into place, and swung the extraordinary weapon upwards, aiming at the section of fence where Jack and James hid.

To James's surprise, Jack raised his hand above the fence, and, when he realized that she wasn't shooting, reluctantly exposed his arm, and eventually his head.

"Parley?" he asked, raising his other hand.

The woman wasn't impressed. "Stand up. You, too," she ordered, gesturing downward to where James squatted. Her round face, which under other circumstances could have been described as kindly, was set, her eyes wary. He slowly raised his hands and stood next to Jack.

"We beg your pardon, ma'am," said James. "Our apologies for intruding on your privacy."

"Privacy, my eye," she said. "He was trespassing and stealing."

"Visiting and borrowing," corrected Jack. "I would have left the apple somewhere nearby in one form or another."

The corner of the woman's mouth twitched, and James felt slightly less tense, for all that the barrel of her gun didn't waver. "So apart from stealing my apples, why are you here?"

"We're looking for something," said Jack cagily.

"What sort of something?"

"A fountain," said James.

"You found it," said the woman, jerking her head toward the centre of her garden. Sure enough, there was a small decorative fountain in the middle of a bed of pansies, not unlike those he had seen in English gardens.

"Not _a_ fountain," said Jack. "_The_ fountain."

"This is the only one in these parts," she said. "It's pretty enough, but it's the sound of it that makes the garden right peaceful."

"What my associate is trying to say is that the fountain we seek is one of legend," said James, "renowned for its restorative powers."

"Well, the folks up in Scituate have some tall tales about it, but you could say the same of me, too. Aw, hell, you might as well come in," she said, lowering her gun. "I can see you aren't the robbing sort. At least," she amended with a wink at Jack, "not robbing them as can't afford it."

A nasty thought occurred to James as he lowered his hands and followed Jack to the garden gate, which the woman opened for them. Perhaps she was correct and the map was a local creation that simply led to her garden fountain. After exchanging hands a few times, it was possible that a witch's fountain could evolve into the fountain of youth, especially if the map was used in bargaining or to settle debts.

"Since you're here, you might as well make yourself useful, longshanks," she said to James. "Reach up there and get me six or seven pears from the high branches. I've a pie to make this afternoon."

"Happy to oblige, madam."

"And take a few for yourself, while you're at it."

"You are too kind."

"And I can fetch you a cup if you must do that," she said, not bothering to look behind her where Jack had stuck his face in the plume of the fountain and was attempting to drink.

"You can't blame a man for trying," he murmured to James as he joined him, red-faced, by the pear tree.

James gave him a hard look and handed him the pears he had picked. They were still cool in the morning sun but their flesh gave slightly under gentle fingers, indicating their perfect ripeness.

Their hostess nodded and gestured for them to follow her into the house, which they did. The cottage's interior was every bit as picturesque as the exterior, with bundles of drying herbs hanging from the rafters, a loom in the corner strung with bright red wool, and a sunny, bright kitchen filled with brightly coloured dishes – a marked contrast to Goody Hardwicke's grey, colourless home.

She gestured for James and Jack to lay the pears on the countertop, and she rested the gun against the table. "Now," she said, tying an apron around her waist, "what do you call yourselves? And you can tell me your real names. I don't give a fig for politics."

"Captain Jack Sparrow and Jim Lad," said Jack promptly.

"Men of the sea," she said thoughtfully, taking a pear and peeling it with a sharp knife. "You've come a ways looking for my fountain. Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, given your friend's condition. I haven't seen a dead man walk that well in nearly a hundred years."

Jack's mouth fell open in surprise, but Norrington's face remained neutral. "You are a woman who sees much."

"Only of what's hidden," she said lightly. "Otherwise, I see no more than most. You don't want that one," she said to Jack who was about to take a bite of one of the pears."Worm-eaten. Have this one."

Jack froze mid-bite and took the other pear, putting the fruit down on the cutting board. The woman slashed at it with her knife, and it fell open to reveal numerous brown tracks marring the creamy flesh.

"At least yours is a practical gift," commented James.

"All gifts are practical, James, if we choose to let them help us."

"You implied, mistress," said Jack, bowing respectfully, "that you had seen a curse like Jim lad's a hundred years ago. Now that, I confess, is a gift that I find quite interesting. May I ask exactly how it was you obtained it?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to," she said. "And none of this 'mistress' fiddle-faddle. I'm Betty."

James made himself useful picking up the pear peels and putting them in the scrap bucket by the door. He caught sight of the garden through the window, its dewy grass sparkling in the morning sun. Surely she wasn't implying that the silly garden fountain was the secret of her youth. It was possible the woman was batty, but the unnatural freshness of her fruit, and the way it bloomed out of season was suggestive, certainly.

"I drank from your fountain, as you may recall," said Jack. "And I'm neither younger nor immortal."

"You wouldn't be," she said absently, slicing the peeled pears and coring them with precise cuts of the knife. "Not when there are material riches to be had."

That statement made both men's heads turn towards her in unison.

"What sort of material riches?" asked James suspiciously.

"Where are they?" asked Jack, grinning.

"About a hundred yards south in the clearing," she said, gesturing toward the far wall. "I think you'll find everything you need to know there. I can't be bothered to dig, myself, but you're welcome to whatever you find there."

Jack wasted no time in hustling out the door, leaving James at a loss for words. The woman expected nothing and continued to prepare her pie. "You don't suppose the fountain could cure me."

"I don't rightly know," she said, slicing the pears into paper-thin slices. "But I'd be surprised if it couldn't."

"But do you think it will?" he pressed.

She looked up from her slicing and gave him a piercing look. "That depends on your friend," she said. "You'd better go make sure he hasn't got into any mischief."

James rolled his eyes heavenward. "The man was made for mischief," he said, sighing.

She was still looking at him oddly. "Aye, that's plain enough. But it might do you good, at some point, to consider what else he might have been made for. Go on after him. I'll be here if you need me."

"Thank you, Miss Betty."

"Missus," she corrected, smiling.

* * *

><p>James found Jack digging at the bottom of a pit at least thirty feet deep.<p>

"What's this, Sparrow?"

"Buried treasure," said Jack absently. "Just like the good lady said."

"I see," said James, crossing his arms and adopting his most insufferable smirk. "And what led you to that particular conclusion?"

In reply, Jack tossed up an object which landed at James's feet. It was a skull.

"Any other reason?"

Two more skulls followed, and then a third.

"Sparrow, all you have succeeded in showing is that the hole in which you are currently stuck has killed people."

"M'not stuck" said Jack. "There are indentations in the side. You can use 'em to come down here and help me."

James looked at where Jack gestured, and reluctantly climbed down. The hand and footholds were surprisingly stable, and the pit had clearly been built with some grand purpose in mind. There were layers of oak logs every ten feet or so that had been hewed through with considerable difficulty by some other persons. When he reached the bottom, his feet squelched on wet mud, and Sparrow handed him a shovel.

"Where did this come from?"

"Presumably, they belonged to the gentlemen who also owned the skulls. Now, look at that!" Jack tapped with his shovel on the dirt below, which, to James's surprise, made a loud clunk. He scraped aside a thin layer of mud to reveal an inscription of bizarre characters and symbols.

"What does it mean?"

"Only three tiny, insignificant details. One, what do you smell in this hole?"

James breathed deeply. There was the expected smell of damp earth, moss, and decay, but there was also something else. "Salt," he said.

"Salt," agreed Jack. "Which indicates?"

"We're not far from the sea. One of the inlets, perhaps."

"Exactly," said Jack. "The next insignificant detail is the slab upon which we stand. Now, why would such a thing be at the bottom of a hole?"

"Because someone put it there," said James, rolling his eyes.

"_Absolutment, ma petite Commodore!_" said Jack. "And the third thing is the inscription," said Jack, "and this is privileged information, so I won't make you guess, but I can promise that this is the personal cipher of one of the most notorious pirates to sail the seven seas, excepting yours truly, of course. A pirate, I might mention, whose trove is rumoured to be in the millions."

"You don't think it could be a trap?" asked James. "The treasure is suspiciously close to the fabled fountain."

"Of course it's a trap," scoffed Jack. "The reason we smell the salt is probably because the shaft is connected to the sea, which means it could flood at any moment."

"Delightful. I'll wait up there, then, shall I?"

"Now, don't do that," said Jack placatingly. "Every trap that can be set can also be unset. It's up to you and me to figure how to unset it."

"Sparrow, we're practically in the shadow of a witch's house. I think we're in over our heads."

Jack grinned. "That's another pun, innit?"

"I'm being serious," said James.

"You're always being serious," complained Jack. "When was the last time you indulged in a bit of fun?"

James nearly mentioned all the singing they'd done but was ashamed to admit that it'd been the most fun he'd had since surrendering his post at Port Royal. Instead he sighed, and began to pick carefully around the edge of the carved granite slab.

"There's no chance that you can translate the cipher on the stone, is there?"

"Of course," said Jack. "It says 'Forty feet beneath lies two million pounds.'"

"It does not!" exclaimed James. "You're making that up."

"'Fraid not, Jim lad," said Jack breezily. "Now, we'll need to rig up a block and tackle or three to lift the stone, but as long as you and I are both on the surface when we lift it, we won't be caught in any artificial floods or other booby traps, and in a few short hours, we'll be able to find what that marker is hiding."

Surprisingly, Betty was able to provide all the necessary tools and rope, and between the endless supply of timber, James's superior carpentry skills, and Jack's gold lust, they had rigged a suitable tower. Jack was below, fitting rope beneath the corners of the stone and swearing hoarsely as water seeped beneath his feet, complicating the process.

It was then that James looked at the sun. It was late in the afternoon, and they had been exploring the pit for hours, and Sparrow hadn't stopped for food or drink. Since Jack's profanity required no response, James wandered back to Betty's cabin. He found her in the garden watering her plants with a bucket.

"How goes the digging?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

"As well as can be expected," said James.

"I would expect you to be a bit more excited by the prospect of such riches."

"Gold was never what I sought," said James, taking the bucket from her and refilling it in the fountain.

"No, it wasn't," said Betty in a faraway voice. "You always wanted a higher purpose. It began - ah, of course. Your father."

"Maimed in an accident when I was eight," said James softly, handing her the bucket. "I had to support my family."

"Then the war." The water from the bucket spattered softly on the ground beneath the apple tree.

"For king and country," said James wryly. "Then the Port Royal command."

"Protecting the weak and punishing the wicked," she said with a grin. "And how did that turn out?"

"Disaster. Ruin. Dissolution," said James, his light tone belying the seriousness of his words. "I nearly lost my soul trying to get back what I once had, only to find it wasn't what I wanted or needed."

"A change of heart?"

"The heart was always the same. It just got covered up by the external trappings." James's head was beginning to feel fuzzy. He wasn't quite sure what he was saying, but Betty nodded.

"Steadfast. But one thing I don't understand. Why did you take command in the Caribbean when your patron is in the Atlantic?"

"It was orders," said James. "And there were more pirates to hunt. And it was a bally great honour for a young post-captain."

"Aah," she said, nodding in satisfaction. "There we have it."

"What?" he asked, refilling her bucket once more.

"Pride," she said, streaming the water over a row of fine cabbages. "It nearly destroyed you. But now that you have known failure, James, I think you are no longer afraid of it."

He nodded slowly. "I ought to go ensure that Jack hasn't sunk completely into the mud."

"The mud isn't what traps most," said Betty.

"Is it magic?" asked James.

"Not a bit," said Betty sadly. "But it's a trap few men can get themselves out of once the idea of treasure sticks in their heads."

Norrington shook his head. "Truer words were never spoken. That damned fool hasn't stopped all day. Could I trouble you for a cup for him?"

"There's one next to the fountain," she said. She looked as if she wanted to say more, but refrained. She took the empty bucket into the house and paused in the doorway. "There's room in the shed if you need shelter for the evening. I think we'll have rain tonight."

James caught a glance of her over his shoulder as she watched him through the kitchen window.

Jack had just divested himself of the last of Purple Percy's ruined wardrobe, which was covered with black, slimy mud, and was in no mood to suffer cool, relatively clean observers. Especially when those clean observers viewed his not inconsiderable charms, slightly smudged though they were, with perfect, calm impassivity. What did it matter if the man was dead? He still had feelings, didn't he?

Jack was about to lay into Norrington with the sharp edge of his tongue when he saw that the object of his ire was holding a battered tin cup of water. The invective died on his tongue and turned into a whinge.

"The bloody thing must be four bloody feet thick! It's not a marker, it's a bloody monolith!"

"You sound like a Puritan's pamphlet," remarked James, holding the cup out to Jack.

He sat down hard on a stump and gratefully tossed the water down his throat. It was the perfect temperature, and his entire body, which until a moment ago had been hot and sore, felt utterly refreshed.

"Needed that, mate. Much obliged." He stood and stretched. "I suppose the treasure wouldn't still be here if it were easy to get to, now would it? I've got the rope into a couple of notches halfway down that will probably hold if we lift her nice and easy. But I need to make sure what I think the bottom really is. And shave your head while you sleep," he added, when he saw that Norrington was staring at him with a blank look on his face. "Gone somewhere nice, Jim lad?"

"Sparrow," he said faintly. "Do me the favour of wiping your face."

Jack was about to reply with a tart comment when he realized that Norrington was afraid, or near enough to it. Jack seized the jacket he'd abandoned and wiped his face on the silken lining. "Now that I've made meself presentable-like, can you tell me what's got you pale as Caesar's ghost?"

"I don't-" he began. "You - the fountain worked, Sparrow."

Jack's first downward glance confirmed that he had not suddenly been returned to childhood, as he had feared the fountain might do in his private reflection. He raised his muddy hands to his face. Lillith and Morgan, the palm creases did look a bit shallower, and the backs possibly less vein-y, but it was hard to tell. He felt a keen desire to see what had shocked Norrington so, and he took off running toward the cottage to see if Betty had a looking glass. As he ran, he simultaneously realized why he felt so much cooler and why Norrington had been so shocked. His hair, his crowning glory that delighted lovers with its abundance and struck fear in the heart of his enemies, knowing as they did that each trinket represented an antagonist dispatched, was gone. He ripped off his bandana and he sighed in relief when several inches, of glossy brown hair flopped down, nearly to his eyes.

He sighed in relief, and ran back to the cottage. He pushed on the door, but found it locked. Banging on the door had no effect - the witch was probably out. So much the better for her, Jack reflected with a grin, given his state of dishabille. Norrington might have been dead from the waist down -and up- but Betty clearly wasn't.

He tried to steal a glance of himself in the mullioned windows, but the tiny panes of glass fractured his reflection into pieces that made no sense in terms of the whole. He ran around back, vaulted the garden fence, and tried the back door, but it too was locked. He looked around for anything reflective when his gaze fell on the fountain, which sprayed innocently into the air. He ran to its edge, willing the surface to be still enough for him to see. The soft ripples refracted through one another and lost energy, and eventually stilled, reflecting the clouds overhead.

The face that looked back at him was both a shock, and not. The hair was drastically different, of course, cut bluntly across his forehead, as he had worn it before turning pirate, and the face, while hardly pale, had none of the leathery aspect to which he had grown accustomed, or the swarthy colour Norrington had been right - it did work. He'd made the fountain work somehow. But how?

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of the garden gate opening and shutting. Norrington still looked a bit pale, but resolute. He looked so deadly serious that Jack couldn't help trying to lighten the mood a bit.

"Well, what do you think, Jamey? Is it me?"

"You look-" Norrington seemed to struggle for words, "-well."

"That's hardly news, now is it," said Jack, striking a mincing pose.

Norrington acknowledged the inanity of the comment with a wry grimace. "How do you feel?"

"Young. Strong. Stupid," said Jack, grinning. "Euphoric. Thaumaturgic, even."

Norrington glanced at the door of the cabin, and Jack shook his head. "''Fraid we're on our own for the nonce. Which means that we've got some figuring to do."

"You mean why the fountain worked the second time and not the first?"

"Something like that," said Jack, glancing at the sky. "Trust a woman to lock us out with a storm coming our way."

"She offered us shelter in the shed," said James.

"Since when?" asked Jack, picking up his bedroll and bag from the pile of equipment they'd left by the gate that morning.

James followed suit and hoisted his bag over his shoulder. "Since the decidedly odd conversation we had when I filled your cup."

"Oh?" asked Jack, pulling on his own trousers with a sigh. "She didn't happen to mention how to make the fountain work, did she?"

"It didn't come up," said James. "Hang on, let's think about this. The fountain had no effect when you tried to steal a sip earlier, correct?"

"Yeah," said Jack, unlatching the shed door and following James in. It was a tidy little place, with numerous useful tools hanging neatly from the walls. There was even a small cot, presumably used by a hired hand, if needed.

"But the water I brought restored you."

Jack stroked his chin thoughtfully, missing his braid. "I begin to take your meaning."

"And the fruits of the garden," said James, pacing in his excitement. "She gives them fountain water from a bucket."

"So I need to dump a bucket of water on you," finished Jack. At Norrington's pointed look, he shrugged. "All right, or maybe it's the act of giving the water to another person what does it, but I still think we should try the bucket, just to make sure."

It could have been his imagination, but it seemed to Jack that the Commodore's face, that had been as still and impassive as marble since returning from death, was subtly illuminated.

"Far be it from me to impede experimentation," he said blandly, though Jack knew it to be ironic-blandness, rather than bland-blandness.

Curious now, Jack hopped the garden fence while Norrington went through the gate. The sky was completely filled with dark clouds, and the wind had picked up. He wished he'd put on a shirt. Norrington was looking for something around the fountain.

"What did you do with the cup I gave you?"

"Don't remember," said Jack. "Dropped it by the pit, maybe."

"She must have taken the bucket inside," said Norrington. "I didn't see one in the shed, either."

"We'll make do," said Jack. "I think you should try a sip on your ownsies once. Just to replicate the conditions of my success, of course."

Norrington looked at him oddly, but made no objection as he bent forward into the spray. He swallowed and made a face. "It's still like drinking sand," he said. "I'll go back to the site to look for the cup."

"Don't be a tit," said Jack, bending over the fountain and cupping his hands. "Drink. It doesn't take much."

"Your hands are filthy."

"Not afraid of getting sick, are you?"

It hadn't ever really occurred to Jack how much taller the Commodore was until watching him awkwardly kneel beside him and lower his face to Jack's hands. It also hadn't ever occurred to Jack to look at the back of James's neck, just below his collar, where the wisps of his dark hair curled beneath the thick queue, looking like wisps of smoke over snow. But this was soon forgotten as James's lips pressed against his palm and drew the cool water away. It was surely the cold wind that made Jack shiver and not James's tongue seeking the last drops of precious water.

James sat back on his heels, his fingers unconsciously worrying his bottom lip. Jack's eyes never left his face. It could happen in the blink of an eye. Tense seconds passed, but his face didn't change. It was still as marble, but for the occasional blink.

Jack was unprepared for the sinking feeling in his belly, especially since he knew that Norrington was no worse off now than he had been. Still, the water should have worked. In frustration he dipped his hand in the water and splashed a copious amount on Norrington.

He recoiled as the cold water hit his face. "What the devil was that for, Sparrow?"

Jack was unprepared for the flash of temper, and his own roared to life to match it. "Trying to find some other way to save your bony arse, seeing as you can't be bothered!"

Norrington looked at him as if he were hopelessly thick. "Sparrow," he said impatiently. "The sip of water worked."

"No," scoffed Jack. "If it worked then why-" he trailed off as Norrington broke into a smile so bright that Jack nearly forgot the coming storm. "You sod!" he shouted, unable to keep his own grin in check. "You utter sod, you just sat there like a bloody statue! And why in the name of knickers did you get to keep all your hair?" He tugged on James's queue. "Hardly seems fair, does it?"

Norrington ignored him in favour of filling his own hands with water and drinking deeply. A look of deep contentment passed over his face as he swallowed. His eyes were shining with warmth and excitement as he looked at Jack, and Jack felt an answering laugh bubble up in his throat. They'd done it.

"You ought to come in and have some pie before the rain starts," remarked a voice from behind them.

They turned to find Betty standing at the garden gate with a basket full of mushrooms. Her eyes passed over Jack far too quickly for his taste and settled on Norrington. Whatever she saw was clearly to her satisfaction, and her eyes returned to Jack, this time more thoughtfully. Jack had known his share of witches, but he'd never felt so naked under the gaze of one as he did then. Except when he actually was naked, of course, and he was only half.

"We'd be delighted," said Norrington, seemingly oblivious to Betty's perusal.

The obsequious lick-spittle even went so far as to take the basket and carry it inside for her. Jack was grateful as the next man to be young again, perhaps permanently, but there was no point in making a production out of it. Still, once Betty had unlocked the door, he held it open for both of them to enter. No point in taking chances, even if the miracle had already been done.

* * *

><p>That night found James and Jack huddled in the shed by the light of a lantern James had found hanging in a dark corner. The tallow candle emitted a faintly rank smell as it burned, and an ancient fug of greasy soot darkened the glass, but it was a comforting thing as the storm raged outside. James was glad he'd taken advantage of Betty's offer of food, because as wonderful as it was to eat and drink again, their rations were running low, and there was still the question of what to do next. Scituate was too dangerous, of course, and hardly worth the effort of returning, since the Puritans had undoubtedly seized all of their possessions, including the boat, looking for evidence of his treachery. And the last bit of their accord had been for them to go their separate ways.<p>

Sparrow, damn the man, was lying on the floor on his bedroll, splicing two lengths of rope, looking to all appearances as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"I don't suppose you've given any thought to what you're going to do next," said James, breaking the relative silence.

"Calm a Commodore who frets too much," said Sparrow. "You grind your teeth, you know. Irritating habit, that."

"I wasn't - never mind," said James. "Answer the damned question, Sparrow."

"Not 'til you call me by my Christian name," said Jack, crossing his arms. "If we're to consider continuing our association until such a time as it behooves us to part, I'm not going to stand for being Sparrow this and Sparrow that."

"That's rather begging the question, now, isn't it?"

"Hardly," said Jack. "As I see it, you've got nowhere to go and not a farthing to your name. Whereas my ship lies due south of here, and I have a usually-unerring piece of equipment to take us to her," he tapped the compass beneath his shirt. The sound it made gave James the odd impression that Jack's chest was empty. "So this time I'm calling the shots, mate. Thus, our first job is to coax that recalcitrant pit to give up its treasure."

"If your ship is currently south of here, wouldn't it be in our interest to get to her before she sails away?"

"Barbossa couldn't drag his people through the swamp for weeks and leave without finding the fountain- he'd have a mutiny on his hands. And deliciously ironic as that would be, he would probably just abandon the _Pearl_ and her crew for a whopping great bribe, something we'll be able to provide, once we get to the bottom of the hole."

"I don't like it."

"As if you have any other option, mate." Jack's teeth flashed in the dim light as he lay back, confident in his argument.

"I could leave," said James simply. "I know the lay of the land, and now that I have a pretty good idea of which way the winds of heresy blow, I could easily live among the Puritan heretics for as long as it would take to find a ship's crew to join."

"I'm to believe that a former Commodore of his majesty's Navy and Admiral of a vast East India Company fleet would be content to join a crew as a mere able seaman?" scoffed Jack.

James's first instinct was to bristle, but Betty's warning about pride rang in his ears. He thought for a moment about what it would be like to start back at the beginning, without connections or even a name - holystoning the deck, hours aloft on middle watch, coarse company, and truly poor victuals. But then he remembered how quickly a man could prove himself; how quickly a man could rise on his own talents based on the vagaries of service and the sea. If he were to stay in the Atlantic in merchant service, where it was unlikely that he'd be recognized, he might make a tidy living, and eventually have his own ship once more. The blessings of his god were, of course, not assured, but to be an eager supplicant in his realm would be a pleasure, if not a reliable boon.

"You know, Jack," he said, flipping the name sardonically, "I rather think I would."

Jack frowned - an expression that James noted with satisfaction wasn't nearly as frightening coming from a clean-shaven face utterly lacking in the accoutrements of intimidation with which Sparrow had adorned himself. Given his crew's known propensity toward mutiny, once the novelty of Sparrow's regained youth had worn off, he would likely have discipline problems.

"Curious, isn't it," James remarked. "We thought finding the fountain was the answer, but it seems to have raised more questions than it solved."

"The way I see it," said Jack, "We could go our separate ways and meditate on the fickleness of fate in our unnaturally long lives," said Jack, "or we could continue with the excavation so we can drink champagne and dine on pheasant while meditating on the fickleness of fate in our unnaturally long lives. It's not as if we won't have enough time to do things afters."

"One wonders if that attitude was shared by the poor souls who died in the pit," remarked James. "When one has all the time in the world, perhaps starting on something worthwhile is the most difficult thing."

"If that's the case, then you'd better stay to save me from me own self-destructive tendencies," said Jack, looking up at James with wide, innocent eyes.

James couldn't resist smirking at Jack's attempt to use his baby face. He was a fast study, certainly. "You assume I have some sort of interest in saving you from yourself."

"Stick around, Jamey," said Jack, lowering his voice. "I might surprise you."

Perhaps it was an effect of having been dead for a period of time, but there seemed to be an undercurrent of something in Jack's voice that made James slightly uncomfortable, for all that it wasn't an entirely unpleasant discomfort.

"You _might_ surprise me. There _might_ be treasure at the bottom of the pit. We _might_ take the _Pearl_. Are you accustomed to receiving credit on speculation?"

"There _might_ have been a fountain of youth," said Jack pointedly. "And it _might_ have lifted your curse. I'd say speculating has paid dividends for you, Jamey."

"You were finishing the job the god sent you to do," insisted James, doing his best to ignore the reaction that his body was having to Jack's predatory tone. "What's to stop you from trying to bargain away my soul the way you tried to before? Or send me out to fight an unkillable foe again?"

It wasn't his imagination. Sparrow was most insistently giving him the once-over. "Then you need to be very careful, my dear Jamey, to make sure that soul is attached to something I want."

James had been at sea long enough to know the look in Sparrow's eye, but there was nothing to do but to make him be explicit. There was no room for misinterpretation. "And how, exactly, do you suggest I do that, Jack?" he asked in his coldest voice.

"You could start by taking off your shirt," said Jack. "I want to see if you're really as pale as that curse wanted me to believe."

James swallowed. His feelings were in an impenetrable jumble, somewhere between outrage and quivering with anticipation, with a bit of curiosity and fury thrown in for good measure. Being dead had been far simpler. However, his fingers moved seemingly of their own accord and he untied his necktie.

Jack's eyes glowed like coals as he pulled the tie gently from the collar of his shirt. "That's a lad," he said softly.

James's fingers were shaking and clumsy as he undid the buttons and pulled open his shirt, exposing his chest. The shed wasn't warm, but James knew it wasn't the temperature that caused gooseflesh to ripple over his skin.

"Knew it," he said with satisfaction "Rosy as a milkmaid." He cocked his head at him, regarding. "But not a maid, are you, Jamey?"

"This cannot be what you want," said James, grateful his voice was flat, despite the fact that his heart was hammering in his throat.

"You don't know that. I don't know that. But we can try to suss it out together, can't we?" Jack reached out and ran his thumb over the nub of James's chin, and the pad of his finger dragged gently over the nascent stubble that was beginning to grow in. "Good to see this," he said. "Unnatural to see you without. Made you look like a boy - a statue of a boy."

"I know what you mean," said James wryly, glancing pointedly at Jack's youthful face.

He smiled. "Ain't it luck for the both of us that I don't have to look at meself, then? B'sides, I reckon I'm around your age, so now I'm just right."

"Just right for what, Sparrow?" asked James, unconsciously reverting to the more familiar name. If Sparrow didn't do something soon he was going to have an apoplexy.

"Just right to give you my favour and, if you like, receive yours in return," said Jack, his face flashing mild impatience. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

At last, the words James longed for and feared. His blood was pounding in his ears, and he felt as if his breathing was having no effect. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed hard and was ashamed to feel tears rising in his eyes.

His eyes widening in alarm, Jack took his arm and gently helped him down on the cot. "I'm sorry, Jim lad. P'raps I misread the situation. I'll, ah, go take a walk. Or something."

James seized his hand in an iron grip. "Don't," he said, scarcely recognizing the heated whisper as his own. "Don't leave."

Jack returned his frown, but when he looked into James's face, he clearly saw something encouraging, because he broke into a smile that made James's heart swell.

"Why, Commodore," he said, "I fear you've been overcome."

"Not yet," said James, slipping back into his characteristic dryness. "But I do hope that's something you will be remedying in the near future, Sparrow."

_Sparrow,_ James thought as the man lowered his lips to his own. _What a delightful word._

For several glorious minutes, his mind was too pleasantly occupied for further contemplation when Jack attempted to break the kiss, only to be thwarted by James firmly suckling his lower lip. Belatedly, he released Jack's mouth, which was reddened from the exercise.

"Do we have an accord?"

"Wha-?" asked James.

"An accord," said Jack, planting a noisy smack on his forehead. "A mutually agreed-upon course of action-" another kiss on the tip of his nose "-between two interested parties." the third kiss landed on his chin. Tease.

James shook his head, as if to clear water from his ears. "I haven't the slightest idea what we're meant to have an accord about."

"Our plans," said Jack throatily in James's ear.

Jack's hot breath on the skin of his neck made him shiver, and James belatedly realized that Jack was attempting to distract him from their earlier disagreement. Well, two could play at that game.

"Item," said James, propping himself up on his elbows and kissing Jack gently on the lips. "We leave this place immediately in search of your ship."

Sparrow froze. "I don't recall agreeing to that."

"Subparagraph A: Two men cannot efficiently excavate the pit. Evidence: numerous skulls, human, of varying degrees of age."

"You know how to kill a mood," complained Sparrow, flopping down next to James on the cot.

Encouraged, James kissed him once again, this time more firmly. "Subparagraph B: Barbossa seeks the fountain of youth. You will convince him to surrender the ship and crew to you in exchange for leading him to the fountain. Evidence that you will succeed: your lovely, sweet, unnaturally young face." James couldn't resist ghosting his fingers over Jack's beautiful cheekbones and cradling his jaw.

"Well, when you put it that way," said Jack, leaning into the caress.

"Item: We resupply at Charlestown and return here with the crew."

"Funny, I don't recall that provision either," said Jack, kicking off his boots. "However, I'm amenable to being persuaded."

James couldn't help himself. He pulled Jack's shirt up and with halting hands touched the golden skin of his belly. "If the treasure numbers in the millions, even the lowest seaman's share would set him up for life." His own voice sounded distant in his ears.

"True," said Jack, arching into James's hand.

"However, we leave Barbossa and crew to excavate," said James, lowering his face to the flat planes of Jack's stomach and pressing a kiss next to his navel."

"What's to stop him leaving us?" asked Jack, eyes fluttering shut.

"A group of pirates with no ship in Puritan territory? Take your pick."

Jack sighed as James swirled his tongue in his navel. "And where are we? I forget."

"We sail to the Caribbean for Captain Swann."

Jack's eyes flew open. "What?"

"She did us a good turn, Jack."

"She did _you_ a good turn. She'd just as soon see me hanged."

"That's not quite how I remember it," said James soothingly, resting his head against Jack's middle. There was a trail of wiry hairs leading from just below his navel down past the waist of his trousers that James felt an absurd desire to follow.

"No, I s'pose you're right," said Jack, sounding placated, but not entirely happy. He smoothed James's hair back from his face. "So why do we plumb the dens of villainy for the treacherous strumpet, exactly?"

"So we can give her water from the fountain, of course," said James, kissing his way gently toward the top of Jack's trousers, which were tenting impressively from the attention. James's cock gave an answering twitch.

Jack's fuzzy gaze sharpened, but then he began to chuckle. "You soft bugger," he said.

James pressed his arousal to Jack's side. "Hardly."

Jack emitted a gravelly groan. "Well, Commodore, if that's the lot of your items and subparagraphs, I have a few addendums of my own."

James settled between Jack and the wall. "I find myself in a magnanimous mood," he said. "State your case."

"Item: I'm Captain."

"That's only fair, considering that it's your boat, on occasion," said James, nuzzling Jack's shoulder.

"What about my subparagraphs, eh?" asked Jack turning on his side to face James.

"Redundant, I'm afraid," said James, sliding Jack's shirt to one side and kissing the base of his neck.

"So you agree to be ship's carpenter for always and always, then?"

James paused in his efforts to remove Jack's shirt. "That was one of your subparagraphs?"

"You'll never know, will you?"

"Bloody pirates," James grumbled into Jack's neck. "Realise that if you try to sneak in provisions I'm just going to make you recite them all."

"All right, you don't have to be ship's carpenter all the time. Just when we need you, agreed?" He punctuated his last word by wrapping his arm around James and kissing him fiercely.

"Agreed," gasped James when Jack released him."Anything other items for discussion?" he asked, more to give himself time to get his impulse to grind himself against Jack under control.

"Sod them," said Jack, making no attempt to rein in his similar impulse. "Accord?"

James had never seen anything so beautiful as a pair of dark eyes blazing with passion for him. He couldn't look away. He cradled Jack's face in his hand, gently stroking it, as something without price.

"Accord," he whispered, and proceeded to break the moment by pulling Jack to him and holding him as tightly as he could. He let out a shuddering sigh and relaxed unwillingly, never wanting the moment to end. And yet, each moment in the past minutes had been finer than the previous, and he had no reason to believe that the trend wouldn't continue.

Jack chose this moment to wriggle out of James's embrace. "Finally," he said, doffing his loosened shirt and unfastening his trousers with alacrity. They fell to the floor, and Jack stood before him in the nude. It was a sight that James had seen more often than he could have possibly anticipated during their hunt, and yet this time his body made him aware of all it had missed when he had seen Jack similarly while cursed. And it wasn't simply the blunt, thick erection that jutted proudly from the mess of black curls between Jack's legs. It wasn't just the golden colour of his skin, or the way his flesh appeared sculpted with utter perfection, neither too slender nor too bulky. It wasn't even his own body's reaction, the sharp stab of need that knifed through his midsection and made his hands itch to run his hands over that warm skin. It was the sight of his own need mirrored in Jack's face, and the knowledge that he was desired in return, despite their frequently adversarial relationship. James felt the corner of his mouth rise in amusement. Perhaps even because of it.

"See something you like, Jamey?" taunted Sparrow, cocking his hip to one side and clasping his hands over his head, which made the muscles in his arms tense.

"One must make do."

"Aye, one must," agreed Jack. "Even when circumstances toss one a stuffed-shirt, imperious, smug, bloody-minded, slack-arsed Commodore."

"Come now, Sparrow," said James, rising languidly from his recumbent pose. "Slack-arsed?"

Jack seized him by his shirt and pulled him into a searing kiss. James wriggled his shoulders and slipped out of the shirt, and Jack's hands fumbled with the tops of his breeches before unfastening them and allowing them to fall to his feet. A curious hand slid down his waist, around his hip, and experimentally squeezed one of his buttocks.

"All right, not slack-arsed, then," conceded Jack, pulling him close.

They both gasped as their arousals brushed, and as if by mutual agreement, they pressed against one another. James found that Jack's shoulder was an ideal place to nibble and lick, his salty skin reddening from the attention.

For his part, Jack's head was thrown back, and his entire body shook as he rutted against James. His breathing was fast and irregular. All too soon, James felt the blood begin to pound in his ears, and he flung his arms around Jack squeezing in time with his thrusts. The hardness between their bodies grew to near-unbearable, and the sweet, hot friction of Jack's arousal against his finally culminated in a climax that wrenched a primal cry from his throat. His body arched against Jack's, ecstatic spasm after spasm. Jack, not to be outdone, let loose a volley of deliciously filthy invective and a climax of his own so powerful that James could feel Jack's hot ejaculate on his chest. They held one another, until the last spasm had passed, leaving exhausted warmth in its wake.

They fell, panting and shaking, on the cot together, James crawling weakly atop Jack and kissing him with all the admiration, gratitude, and joy that filled him. Jack looked up at him in surprise, which quickly became a wry smile.

"That's one part of being young again I hadn't anticipated," he admitted. "My stamina, once renowned around the seven seas, isn't what it was."

James stared at him in disbelief for a moment, but frowned and began to wipe their shared release from his stomach and chest. "You needn't fish for compliments, Sparrow. You can't have missed the evidence that I found this experience to be perfectly satisfactory."

"Satisfactory, my arse. You almost fainted."

"I didn't hear any complaints from your quarter either," retorted James, hating the undercurrent of vulnerability in his voice.

Unfortunately, Sparrow seemed to hear it. "You've nothing to be ashamed of, Jamey," he said, kissing his shoulder. "Now, if you don't mind my asking -"

James could see where this was going and had no wish to talk about it. "I do mind."

"Was that your, well, virgin voyage into depravity of this sort?"

"Associating with a known pirate?" asked James, attempting to make light of it. "It's a hanging offence in the Navy, you know."

"So's one of the equally pleasurable activities we are, through temporary anatomical limitation, currently unable to explore."

"True."

After a moment's silence made clear that he wasn't going to get any additional information on the subject, Jack nodded, seemingly accepting the non-answer.

"The worst of the storm's passed," he remarked, turning over on his side insinuating his astonishingly perfect posterior against James. "P'raps we'll even be able to sleep tonight. Digging's hard work, you know. Or perhaps you don't?"

James chose to ignore anydouble entendre present in the question, and wrapped his arm around Jack's waist. "Shut up, Sparrow," he murmured in his ear.

"Sod off, Norrington," returned Jack, pulling James's arm more tightly around him.

James sighed, warm and contented. It was good to be alive. Even if Jack left in the night or was unable to overcome the lure of the treasure pit or even marooned him on an island somewhere, tonight in itself had been worth it.

The pillow was soft beneath their heads, and they slept.

* * *

><p>The following morning found Betty outside cleaning up the mess the storm had made of her garden. There were fallen branches everywhere, and the almond tree had been cloven in two from a bolt of lightning. Once the smaller branches had been put in the brush pile to dry for kindling, she considered the remains of the almond tree. James was a clever man with wood, she knew, and she could use his assistance. She wiped her hands on her apron and wandered over to the treasure trap, but to her surprise, neither James nor his friend was there.<p>

A knowing smile crossed her face. Either they'd killed one another or reconciled their differences amicably. She made her way quietly to the shed, peered inside and was surprised to find the shed empty, save for a battered leather Bible, left there by one of the hired help years ago. Its cover was cracked and dusty, but it lay open on the empty cot, and a beam of morning sunshine lit the onionskin pages.

She peered closer and saw that one passage in the New Testament had been underlined crudely in black, presumably soot from the match next to the lantern.

_For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. _

Betty stood looking at the book, then placed the ribbon placeholder in between the pages and closed the cover, its ancient leather creaking. She smiled to herself as she carried the book into the cottage and laid it on the table.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** © 2011 Mundungus42. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by JKR or any other lawful holder. Permission may be obtained by e-mailing the author at mundungus42 at yahoo dot com

* * *

><p>The mobile phone on the table sang out an electronic rendition of "Ladies of Spain," and several other diners on the patio gave the owner a dirty look. The young man, suitably chagrined, quickly answered, plugging his other ear to block the hum of traffic.<p>

"Hello? Yes, of course it's me. Where are you?"

"Ask them if they want us to order their usual," said his companion, a preternaturally lovely woman with a fashionably gamine figure.

"Just a minute. Yes. No. I mean it, Jack, no! Elizabeth wants to know if we should order your usual." He paused, then snickered. "No, I don't suppose she would."

At this Elizabeth tossed her napkin at him, and he caught it deftly in the air. "All right, then. See you." He hung up and laid his phone back on the table.

"They're stuck in traffic?"

"They couldn't get a taxi at the harbour and had to rent a surrey."

"What's a surrey?"

"I don't know," he smiled self-deprecatingly. "I suppose we'll find out."

She gave him a warm smile and leaned across the table to offer him her lips, which he accepted.

A waiter appeared to take their order, and they ordered food and a bottle of champagne, since it was Elizabeth's turn to choose. It arrived quickly and silently, and the cork was removed with a delicate hiss.

When the waiter had poured two glasses, he raised his glass to her. "Happy anniversary, Elizabeth."

She touched the rim of her glass to his. "Happy anniversary, Will."

They both drank.

"This is good," he declared. "Do I want to know how far back this will set Jack?"

"I didn't think it polite to look at the prices," said Elizabeth, giving him an impish smile.

At this juncture, they became aware that a larger number of vehicles than usual were honking. Several other diners were glancing at the street looking for anything unusual, and Will stood up to look.

He could just make out a red and white awning amidst the flow of traffic, then a flash of familiar faces. Traffic slowed, honking futilely as an awkward-looking, square-shaped bicycle built for four emerged from the sea of cars, mounted the curb with a metallic clang and the squeal of rubber against painted pavement, and came to a stop next to the patio.

"Excellent navigating as usual, Jim lad," remarked Jack, hopping nimbly over the handlebars.

"We can't leave this here, Sparrow. We'll get a ticket."

"No, the surrey company will get a ticket, which they won't be aware of until after we've returned aforementioned conveyance to them, assuming we're nicked before we can finish lunch."

Elizabeth caught James's eye and dimpled. "Pirate," she pointed out.

Jack squeezed between the gates separating the patio from the sidewalk, but James went around through the entrance.

Jack sat and tucked a napkin carefully over his shocking red necktie.

"Nice tie," said Will, cocking an eyebrow.

"Nice hair," returned Jack. "Is that champagne?"

Elizabeth poured two more glasses.

"What's the occasion?" asked James.

"Isn't seeing our friends enough of an occasion?" asked Elizabeth innocently.

"It's not your three hundredth already?" asked Jack. "We'd have got you a pressie!"

"You already did," said Elizabeth, raising her glass. "Thank you. It's lovely, isn't it?"

"Quite," said James, giving her a small smile.

"How goes the racing?" asked Will.

"Slightly more wins than losses and more places than not," said Jack. "When the sea is with us, nobody can touch us. When she's not, someone else wins. And we got a new boat."

"You got rid of the _Sea Turtle_?" asked Will, surprised.

"We could no more sell that boat than cut off Jack's arm," said James. "_Sea Turtle_ is in semi-retirement, and we're defending the America's Cup in September with the new boat."

Elizabeth caught an undercurrent of chagrin in James's comment. "What's her name?"

"_Jim Lad_," said Jack. "You'll understand when you see her. Stiff and unyielding at first, but with a bit of skilful handling..." he trailed off insinuatingly.

Will snickered and Elizabeth looked at James. "You agreed to this?"

"He got to name the last boat," said Jack smugly.

"In my defence, _Witty Jack _was the perfect name for a ship that swayed unpredictably in high wind."

"Really, James, what were you thinking?" said Elizabeth disapprovingly through giggles. "You were practically begging to go down in a Caribbean hurricane."

"I remember that storm," said Will. "I saw many souls that night. Yours might have been among the harvest."

"Lizzie'd have dismasted you for that," said Jack smugly. "And I don't mean your ship this time."

"Yes, well, lesson learned," said James, grimacing.

"Don't twit the gods," said Jack, fondly tweaking his ear. "It'll only come back to bite you in the end."

"And you?" James asked Elizabeth. "Are you still with Reuters?"

"Oh no," said Elizabeth. "They sacked me after what happened in Egypt. As if it were my fault that uprisings tend to happen when I'm around."

"As if," said Jack sarcastically, "it were your fault strongmen tend to die spectacularly when you visit."

"I haven't any idea what you mean," said Elizabeth primly. "Fortunately, the BBC was looking for someone to cover the Middle East, and I got the job." She gave a wry smile. "Funny sort of husband who approves of his wife going into war zones but not her having her own ship."

Will's face became grave. "If anything were to happen to you at sea, I'm the one who has to escort you onward. You know I can't do that. Not after William."

"Have you, ah, been to see young William?" asked Jack with an unusual amount of tact.

Will squeezed his wife's hand. "This morning," he answered.

"We brought him heliconia," added Elizabeth, her voice wistful. "He always loved them when he was little. He'd hold the flowers and challenge me to duels with the stems. He always delighted in opposing us, right to the last."

The table was silent for a moment, each person in contemplation of that great leveller which they had forsaken when they had drunk the waters all those years ago. At last, Jack cleared his throat.

"Me old dad told me it's not about living forever but living with yourself forever," he said.

"It's true. Living with you is tremendously challenging," James remarked to Jack.

This made Elizabeth smile. "Immortally bickering beloveds," she said.

"There are worse fates," said James.

They chatted about old friends and enemies, all of whom had since expired, revisited old stories that they all knew, when Will glanced over his shoulder and stood. "Excuse me for a moment," he said kissing Elizabeth's cheek. "I won't be long."

"There's a man who can't hold his champagne," remarked Jack in a stage whisper.

"You try drinking water for half an hour and see how long you last," returned Will.

When he had gone inside, Elizabeth's expression changed from the open adoration with which she regarded her husband to that of a shrewd negotiator.

"All right, Jack. How much will you take for the _Sea Turtle?"_

"That's my girl," said Jack. "I wondered how long it would take you to ask."

"What do you want her for?" asked James, his expression unreadable.

"To captain, obviously," she said. "I can't buy a ship with our money, but I've acquired some on my own, and I'd like the _Turtle_."

"Well, we paid 1.5 for her back in the late eighties," said Jack. "She's a bit older now, sure, but she's every bit as fast. Make it eight hundred thousand, and we'll call it a deal."

"Eight hundred thousand? Don't make me laugh. Sentimental value aside, you'd be lucky to get four for her."

"If you want a pleasure yacht, you can pay four hundred. But if you want a fast one, you pay eight."

"Elizabeth, are you certain about this?" asked James doubtfully.

She raised her chin mutinously. "Don't you start on me, James."

He made a quelling gesture. "That's not what I mean. I simply mean to ask if the _Brown Betty_ might be a better choice, if you're doing what I suspect you're doing."

"Come off it, Jamey. _Betty's _a dear, but she's not got the panache of the _Turtle_, and her draft's no deeper."

"The _Turtle_ is too ostentatious. Any pirate worth his salt would be suspicious. What _Betty_ lacks in looks she makes up for in speed and manoeuvrability"

"All right, James," said Elizabeth. "How do I get her?"

"She's in the Mediterranean moored off Santorini," said James. "She's yours for seven hundred."

"Five."

"Six and a half."

"Five fifty."

"Six."

"Done."

"Now wait just a minute!" protested Jack. "She's half mine, you know!"

They both ignored him and shook on the deal.

"I'll wire the money to your usual account?"

"If you would," said James. "We'll send word to the harbourmaster that the _Brown Betty_ has a new owner."

Elizabeth's smile was broad as she typed the relevant information into her phone. "I always wanted to go to Somalia."

"Heaven help Somalia," said Jack, taking a gulp from his glass.

"Why Somalia?" asked Will, threading through the tightly-packed tables on the patio.

"Well, they're in all sorts of trouble, now, aren't they?" asked Jack, rising. "And now if you'll be so good as to excuse me, ladies and gentlemen and Elizabeth, I have a call to make."

She wrinkled her nose at him as he left, and Will sat. His dark eyes sought James's.

"I think I can guess what you're about to ask," he said.

"It's only obvious," said James, sighing.

Elizabeth took a sip of champagne to avoid saying anything.

"Is there anything to be done?" asked James.

"It depends. How long ago did it happen?"

"A week. No more than ten days."

"You're lucky. If it were even two weeks I don't think I could do anything."

Elizabeth's eyes lit up as understanding dawned.

"Are we pulling one over on Jack?" she asked.

"If possible," said Will. "We'll have to be subtle. Careful. Make it look like a mistake rather than deliberate sabotage."

"Where are you registering the new boat?" asked Elizabeth.

"Seattle."

"Even better," said Will. "I know the harbourmaster well. We met in Deception Pass, and both of us are quite glad he evaded me that day. I'll visit him first thing tomorrow and see what I can do."

"Would it really be so terrible to have a boat called _Jim Lad_?" asked Elizabeth.

"You have no idea," said James, grimacing. "Have it changed to something mythological. Like _Eutectic_ or _Diana_."

"Won't Jack just try to change it again?" she asked.

"He wouldn't. He's too superstitious," said Will. "He'll assume it was the vagaries of fate."

"Shall I provide your standard fee?" asked James.

"If you would," said Will.

"I'll wire it to your usual account," he said, nodding his head subtly toward the door to the restaurant, where Jack had reappeared and was winding through the tables on the patio.

"That was fast," said Elizabeth.

"It saves time if you don't wash your hands afterwards," said Jack, massaging her shoulders.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to deliver a tart reply when the waiter arrived with their food. Two enormous bread bowls that overflowed with thick seafood chowder were set before Jack and James, a whole lobster for Elizabeth, and a juicy t-bone steak for Will, who, commented Jack, really ought to have had enough bones for the rest of his life.

Elizabeth ordered a second bottle of wine, and the foursome ate in silence for a few minutes while they enjoyed their food. However, when the second bottle was opened and glasses of red wine passed around, Jack managed to spill half of his glass on Elizabeth, and she excused herself to get the worst of the stain out before it set.

Will seized the opportunity to glare at Jack. "Elizabeth tried to buy the _Sea Turtle_ from you, didn't she?"

Jack spread his palms above the table. "I am hurt, William, that after all these years you would think that we would sell your wife the _Turtle_ against your wishes."

"We sold her the _Brown Betty_," said James, ignoring Jack's scowl.

"That's a good boat," said Will.

"Aye, and we practically gave it to her," said Jack, "so if you'd like to seal the deal with an extra fifty thousand, I'm sure your little wifey would appreciate -"

"We thought it would serve her purpose, if, as she implied, she wishes to hunt pirates in the Gulf of Aden."

"It will serve her purpose, I'm sure," said Will, grimacing, "though her target is in the Atlantic."

James stiffened imperceptibly. "Really?" he asked, his voice neutral.

"Don't toy with me, James," said Will. "I know you have a protector in the Atlantic who saved you from a hostile sea. Elizabeth saved your life. Please return the favour"

"He gave her eternal life," said Jack, frowning. "I'd say that makes them even, don't you?"

James sent a quelling look Jack's way. "This isn't a bargain to be struck."

"More the fool you, then," said Jack. "If I were you, I'd consider making a deal with the devil while he has something you want. We may be eternally young, but we can still die, just like those foolish sods who worked themselves to death at the treasure pit."

"I'm not the devil," protested Will.

"Just his successor," said Jack. "Now, we'll consider - and I do mean consider - your request if you can give us some kind of guarantee that'll be useful should one of us ever have the misfortune to cop it in your jurisdiction."

"Like a day's head start?" asked Will, looking wryly at James.

James shrugged. "That would be sufficient."

"You realize that I can't even guarantee my wife the same courtesy should she be lost at sea."

"Funny, I thought Lizzie was a shrewder negotiator than that," said Jack. "No matter. Do we have an accord?"

Will sighed. "We have an accord. But it had better be worth it."

"Easiest thing in the world," said Jack. "Tell him, Jamey."

James glanced over his shoulder to guard against eavesdroppers, then leaned forward. "The god of the Atlantic is very fond of singing," he said in a low voice.

Will waited a beat before blinking in surprise. "You're having me on. That's your secret?"

"Not very credulous, is he, Jim lad? Sad to see such cynicism in one so young."

"I'm nearly three hundred years old," said Will.

"Nevertheless," said James, "that is the secret to winning Njord's favour Mock it if you will, but we've held up our end of the bargain."

"I expected something a bit more useful than that," said Will.

"You drive a hard bargain, Willy lad, but here's the real deal: the sea is tremendously fond of the Beatles. I sing John, Jamey sings Paul, and there's enough variety to keep us amused and afloat."

"But Elizabeth-" began Will.

"I suppose she could do Ringo's songs," said Jack. "Though she should probably avoid 'Octopus's Garden.' Might give old Njord the wrong idea."

"I thought perhaps Harry Nilsson," said James. "The lyricism would appeal if she has any sort of range."

Will raised his hands. "This is absurd. I can't just let my wife traipse off to the Atlantic with only a forty-year-old song catalogue to keep her safe!"

"He also likes Schubert," added James. "Hundreds of lovely songs on every conceivable subject."

Will glared at James. "You're as bad as he is."

"Thank you," said Jack, preening. "And you won't be sending her at all. She'll think she's diddling you, and it's probably safer that she does. So do yourself a favour and practice in the mirror a few times before begging her to sing every day when you're gone so you won't rouse her suspicions."

"Rouse my suspicions of what?" asked Elizabeth, who had reappeared, the arm of her blouse wet where she had attempted to wash the wine off.

"Rouse your suspicion that we've ordered dessert for you," said James, smiling. "I'm afraid you've quite caught us red-handed."

"It's my duty as Pirate King," she said, sitting. "So what did you order?"

"Chocolate," said Jack, a bit too quickly. "Cake?"

"That's too bad," said Elizabeth. "I saw someone's bread pudding a moment ago and-"

"I'll go see if I can stop the waiter before he puts the order in," said James, standing.

If Elizabeth noticed anything off about their behaviour, she didn't say anything.

"And now, my friends," said Jack, "we come to the heart of the matter. I have a sneaking suspicion that my dear Jamey might have made you a very naughty offer."

"I've told you a hundred times already, Jack," said Will, with the ghost of a smirk on his face. "I don't care what your history is. Elizabeth is off limits."

Elizabeth kissed his cheek. "I do love it when you're forceful, no matter how wrong-headed the sentiment."

Jack shrugged. "Your loss, mate. But that's not exactly the insinuation I was attempting to make. If I know Jamey, his façade of unflappability is just that."

"Unflappable?" asked Will.

"A façade," said Jack impatiently. "I suspect that Jim lad is more than a bit bent out of shape about the _Jim Lad _than he tries to let on. So much so that he might even seek your help in preventing it from becoming the _Jim Lad_."

"Come now, Jack," said Elizabeth. "Do you really think James could be that underhanded?"

"Not originally, but he's become a touch circumspect in recent decades. It's enough to drive a man to drink."

"The sun rising in the morning is enough to drive you to drink," said Elizabeth.

"Perhaps, but I notice you haven't denied the charge laid at your wee footsies," said Jack, taking a sip of wine.

"Would it do us any good to deny it?"

"Doubtful, dear William," said Jack, grinning.

"Then I admit the deed," said Elizabeth, spreading her arms dramatically.

The performance was lost on Jack. "He told you the new barky is being registered in Seattle?"

"He did."

"And you agreed to intercede on his behalf for an unspecified sum?"

"The amount was understood rather than unspecified," said Elizabeth.

"So what if I were to double it?" asked Jack.

"In exchange for letting her remain the _Jim Lad?"_

Elizabeth looked at her husband with a quizzical expression. "Double-crosses are more in your line, darling," he said, without venom.

"It seems quite straightforward to me," she said. "It's Jack's turn to name the ship, James tried to circumvent the process, and now Jack wants us to return things to the way they might have been. Sounds like a job for Robin Goodfellow."

"Aye," said Jack, rubbing the tip of his moustache between his fingers. "And you always did make a good fellow. And you collect payment twice. A win-win situation, innit?"

"Your hand on it?" asked Will.

Jack still waited a beat to thrust his hand squarely into Will's.

"Another bottle? Something a bit stronger?" he asked.

"I doubt they sell bottles of rum," said Will.

"No," said James, returning to his seat, "but I did take the liberty of ordering a bottle of Port with Elizabeth's bread pud."

"That's my Jamey," said Jack, cheerfully swatting James's behind and making him jump.

James surveyed the table with a suspicious eye. "I hope I didn't miss anything important."

"Not at all. We were discussing butterflies and flowers," said Jack airily.

"And happy little birdies," said Elizabeth.

"And rainbows," added Will. "Lots of rainbows."

"Puppies too, I'm sure," said James crossing his legs lithely.

When dessert and the Port arrived, the weight of the delicious food and the two previous bottles had produced a feeling of magnanimity at the table, and their sips became less frequent and more ceremonious. They made numerous toasts to absent friends, the most memorable of their late shipmates, their vanquished foes, and even James's childhood pet. Elizabeth nearly snorted Port out her nose when she found that James had named his cat Sir Fuzzy Tum-Tum.

"Well, my dears, the time has come, I'm afraid," said Elizabeth, sighing heavily and placing her napkin on the table.

"Quite right, Lizzy," said Jack. "Jamey and I need to return the surrey at some point, and I see one of the local constabulary eyeing it with keen interest. Jim lad, if you'd be so good as to take the surrey around the block, I shall settle the bill."

They all stood with minor difficulty, swaying slightly from only half-regained land legs.

"It was good to see you, as always," said James, giving Elizabeth a courtly kiss on the cheek.

"Likewise. See you in ten years?"

"Wouldn't miss it," said Jack. "After all, it's your turn to pay next time."

Handshakes and embraces were exchanged, and then Elizabeth and Will were left alone once more.

Once James had hopped aboard the surrey and steered it back into traffic, Will sighed contentedly. "So what are we going to do about their boat?"

"We'll rename it, of course," she said. "Something ridiculous. Maybe from that song Jack always used to sing. Like _Really Bad Eggs._"

"James banned him from singing that song a hundred years ago," said Will. "Since the point is to name her something they'll both hate, it wouldn't be fair if it were something Jack liked."

"Very well," said Elizabeth. "What about _My Arse?"_

"It's lovely," said Will.

"I meant as a name for their boat," said Elizabeth, dimpling at the compliment.

Will thought for a moment, then started to laugh. "Can you imagine the reporting on their races? ''This will be _My Arse's_ virgin voyage.'"

Elizabeth giggled. "And in second place, _My Arse.'_"

"'I've never seen _My Arse's _crewmove that quickly!'"

"_The Admiral_ certainly gave _My Arse _a beating today!"

By now, both of them were laughing so hard they had attracted the notice of nearby diners.

"I think we're settled on _My Arse_, then," said Elizabeth, attempting to rein in her mirth and only partially succeeding.

"I think so." He raised his glass of Port. "To _My Arse. _Long may it sail."

Elizabeth touched her glass to his and drank. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack bound from the restaurant door into traffic, where he seized one of the awning poles and swung himself into the surrey.

Elizabeth raised her glass. "To Jack Sparrow, long may he captain _My Arse."_

This set them off again in gales of laughter that lasted so long that they didn't immediately notice the voice calling their names.

"OI!" came a booming shout from the street. James had pulled the surrey up on the curb by the restaurant patio once more, Jack still hanging off the side.

"We've got this absurd thing for another hour," said James. "Fancy a lift? Unless it's below the Captains Turners' dignity."

Will couldn't ignore the sparkle in his wife's eye. "Well, it's slightly better than walking," he said.

"We can always snog the in back while they bicker over which way to go," said Elizabeth.

"I like the sound of that," said Will, slipping his arm around her waist to lift her over the patio gate.

Once they were settled, Will, Elizabeth, and James began to pedal while Jack kept a lookout.

"Look lively there, Turners!" he called. "Commodore, just a touch larboard. Watch the convertible. OI, THERE, GRASS-COMBING, CLOT-PATED MERCEDES! Lizzy, belay that fishwife cackling!"

The surrey glided into the bicycle lane under James's firm touch, and Jack raised a hand to shade his eyes. The afternoon sun set the glass skyscrapers ablaze, and if one listened, over the traffic and the buzz of downtown, one could almost hear music dancing like laughter on the wind.

* * *

><p><strong>THE END<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> All the dirty songs are by Henry Purcell, "When That I Was..." is from _Twelfth Night, _and "An Acre of Land" is a traditional English nonsense song. Naval and seafaring actions and jargon were informed by numerous visits to the Maritime Museum of San Diego and Patrick O'Brian's brilliant Aubrey/Maturin books. The pamphlet battle is based on a historical war of words between John Cotton and Roger Williams, as reported by Sarah Vowell in her book "The Wordy Shipmates." A booby-trapped "Money Pit" similar to the one depicted here exists, though it's on Oak Island, Nova Scotia. It's thought to contain, on circumstantial evidence, Captain Kidd's treasure. And last but certainly not least, enormous thanks to anonymous_plume for idea-bouncing, hand-holding, and cheer-leading, to Mr. 42 for a thorough, brilliant beta-read and saving me from my melodramatic and jargon-y proclivities, and to Pythia_Delphi for lightning-fast, high-precision gamma-read and sparing all of you from repetitive usage and confusing syntax.


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